


Sandbox Love is Forever

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Bullying, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jock Derek Hale, M/M, Minor Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Nerd Stiles Stilinski, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29033565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: Being at different colleges, miles apart, meant that they’d likely be too busy for each other. An unstoppable force tearing them apart. But he could hold on for now.“Okay,” Stiles shakily answered, clearing his throat before continuing, “I’ll go with you after the game.”The corners of Derek’s lips started to turn up into a small but hopeful smile.It was different from the smile Derek did for football. It was always more personal—genuine—when he looked at Stiles.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 70
Kudos: 655





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little AU I started working on over the months, and slowly has become longer than I thought it would. This is a WIP, being developed from a rough outline, all inspired by the queer-coded relationship dynamics of Jennifer's Body (Derek doesn't become a succubus ... but that's another idea for another time), and inspired by the most fluff line ever: "Sandbox love never dies".
> 
> I shouldn't be allowed to be inspired by the most random things, and yet, here we are.

“It just doesn’t make sense why we have to sit out here, to cheer for the team, when we are all going to be here tonight, cheering for the team,” Scott explained.

Stiles partially laughed, shaking his head. He stood and sat for the obligatory wave that Scott half heartedly followed. “You’re not mad that you didn’t make the team, right?”

Scott blew out a raspberry, as if the idea was absurd to him.

Stiles laughed.

“At least it doesn’t snow this early,” Allison stated from her spot next to Scott.

“It snows about a day a year,” Lydia replied as she leaned to look around Stiles and Scott, talking to Allison directly.

The band started to play a drum roll, meaning they had come to the end of the roster to announce the seniors—and most importantly, their captain.

Everyone cheered enthusiastically as the players took onto the field. Stiles cheered even for Jackson, feeling obligated to with Lydia right beside him. He knew Jackson’s threatening barbs were toothless now, but he still disliked him.

Stiles stood with everyone when they announced Derek’s name, a fond smile on his lips as he watched Derek run out onto the field, helmet in hand.

Derek held up his helmet to the cheering crowd on the bleachers, receiving a louder cry of approval. He stopped by the others, his eyes scanning the crowd. He smiled when he saw Stiles, lifting a hand to wave at him.

Stiles raised his hand, waving back. He felt the bundle of nerves in his stomach tighten—that feeling that was always there whenever Derek placed his attention on him.

A scoff came from behind them.

Stiles turned to see Theo a row behind them. “What?”

“Gay for Hale much?”

“Fuck off,” Scott snapped at Theo.

It wasn’t the first time someone made note of Stiles’ relationship with Derek.

Derek was captain of the football team, all around beloved by the entire school. The school saw Derek on the surface—popular and gorgeous—and Stiles didn’t compare.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” Lydia sighed at Theo.

“Jealous of Stilinski?” Theo laughed, shaking his head. “As if.”

Stiles looked back at Derek, feeling something pull tight in his stomach, knowing there was more to it despite his own reassurances that he felt nothing but friendship for him.

~*~

Stiles pulled his books from the locker, rearranging his bag as he mentally checked off what he needed for the weekend.

A warm body pressed against his back, a familiar voice announcing, “You and I are going out tonight after the game.”

Stiles partially laughed, looking up when Derek slid into view, trying to ignore the press of Derek’s body against his.

Derek leaned against the wall of lockers, his free arm coming to rest against the top part of Stiles’ open locker. He leaned his head against the locker and his bicep, watching and waiting for Stiles to answer him.

“You haven’t even won yet, so you don’t know if you’ll be in the mood to go out,” Stiles retorted as he put away his chem book.

“Aw, you don’t believe in me?” Derek pretended to pout.

Stiles rolled his eyes when Derek laughed. “And where are we supposed to go?”

“Everyone’s going to Betty’s diner,” Derek stated. “We could grab some pizza. Then there is a party at Jackson’s.”

Stiles looked at Derek. “I don’t know, I don’t really have an outfit to wear,” he partially shrugged his shoulder, as if it didn’t bother him that most people in the high school didn’t believe he had a good fashion sense. He preferred graphic tees and plaid. He just happened to stand out when next to Derek.

“Come on,” Derek uttered as he took a step back, eyes flickering over Stiles briefly. “You always look good.”

Stiles felt a flush rush over him. He never understood why Derek said things like that, boosting his spirits and making him feel desirable. “Sure,” he skeptically scoffed.

Derek’s brow furrowed, a look of annoyance pulling at the corner of his lips. “You know, we could just hang out then at my house. Just the two of us.” He sounded near hopeful, as if he preferred that outcome.

Stiles reluctantly shook his head, writing it off as his imagination projecting. “No, you are the big hero,” he partially laughed, looking at Derek. “Besides, I’m sure Heather will want to go.”

Derek’s expression fell, a glimpse of disappointment flickering across his face. “Boo,” he muttered under his breath, turning to lean his back against the lockers as he let his arms fall to his sides.

Heather and Derek didn’t get along. Their fake smiles at one another were enough to tell how much they disliked each other. The only thing they had in common was Stiles.

“I know the code states that girlfriends and boyfriends come first,” Derek started, turning his head slightly as he looked at Stiles. His smile was warm despite how melancholy his eyes were. “I just miss you.”

Stiles felt as if the floor was swallowing him up the longer he looked at Derek.

These nights could be the last few that they had as the year ticked down until their graduation. Derek had a full ride pending on the scouts who wanted him, and Stiles was still finishing up his application to Beacon University. Being at different colleges, miles apart, meant that they’d likely be too busy for each other.

An unstoppable force tearing them apart. But he could hold on for now.

“Okay,” Stiles shakily answered, clearing his throat before continuing, “I’ll go with you after the game.”

The corners of Derek’s lips started to turn up into a small but hopeful smile.

It was different from the smile Derek did for football. It was always more personal—genuine—when he looked at Stiles.

“I’ll pick you up outside the locker room.”

~*~

Stiles waited outside the building, leaning against the bricks as he watched his peers celebrate their win. He faintly smiled when a group loudly passed him. He shifted his weight, knowing that Derek was taking longer than usual to come out of the locker room. He had hoped he hadn’t missed a message to meet him elsewhere. He was surprised when Boyd and Jackson walked out of the building doors next to him, without Derek.

“Hey,” Stiles softly called after them, his voice breaking through Jackson’s faint laughter.

Boyd turned and looked at Stiles. He seemed unaffected compared to Jackson’s apparent dislike at Stiles addressing them.

“Is Derek still in there?”

Boyd looked at the doors they just exited before nodding. “Scouts delayed him.”

“You might get a show if you go in now,” Jackson added.

Boyd shoved Jackson in not that playful of a manner.

“Thanks, Boyd,” Stiles curtly uttered as he turned to enter the building. He wasn’t sure what he was thanking Boyd for, but part of him wished he had stayed to see the annoyance in Boyd’s eyebrows reach Derek-level of annoyance. He reminded himself that Jackson was hardwired in being an asshole.

Stiles walked by a few other players, ignoring their idle chattering as he made his way to the men’s locker room. “Hello?” He called out when he opened the door. He heard the shower running, taking a step into the locker room as he waited a beat to confirm that no one heard him. “Derek?”

Another silent beat besides the running of the shower when suddenly the sound stopped.

Stiles lurched and stepped back out of the locker room when he saw a flash of movement—the glimpse of bare skin and white towel were enough to clue Stiles into the fact that it was Derek walking out of the showers. He wanted to give Derek his privacy, his mind thinking back to Jackson’s taunting words.

Stiles had seen Derek in nothing but his boxers before, even running into him in the hallway after Derek got out of the shower. He had the composure to turn around or dash for the bathroom afterwards, avoiding staring at Derek. It was stupid, but for some reason swim trunks held a different meaning to Derek’s nudity than a towel or underwear did.

Now, Stiles was thinking about Derek’s bare chest.

Stiles opened one of his phone apps as a distraction, scrolling through social media as he read more than one of his peers posting about the game. He noticed most of it was about it being the last game of the season. Some were significant others of cheerleaders and football players. Others congratulated peers on a game well won. Derek was a common feature in the posts. He was almost relieved it was over, grateful Derek only had the time and energy to devote to one sport. He wouldn’t have to go to another high school game now. He looked up when the locker room door opened.

Derek walked into the hallway, dropping his gym bag onto the floor as he pulled his shirt the rest of the way down.

Stiles caught a glimpse of Derek’s stomach, seeing the hair covering his abs. He looked up at Derek, hoping he wasn’t caught and the flush in his neck wouldn’t rise.

“Did you say my name?” Derek asked as he reached down to his bag, lifting the strap up onto his shoulder as he finally looked up at Stiles with a smile on his lips.

Derek was wearing a light cotton henley, the white much thinner than it should have been as it was obvious what Derek’s body looked like beneath the nearly transparent material. His jeans were a dark shade of blue, the kind he usually wore on days he didn’t have practice. It wasn’t weird for Derek to wear normal clothes, just a pleasant surprise to see him not in athletic wear.

It also meant he looked even more attractive than usual, and Stiles regretted going to Jackson’s party now. He’d be standing in the corner as more than one person fawned over Derek, and Stiles could think of a few people who’d be more than happy to distract Derek for the night.

“I poked my head in,” Stiles tried to nonchalantly say as he gestured his head to the doors. “Boyd and Jackson said you were held back by scouts.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Nothing official, but it was reassuring,” he explained.

Stiles turned and started heading back to the doors, wanting to get outside in the cold. “Nobody falling at your feet and worshipping you?”

“Are you offering?” Derek replied as he followed Stiles down the hallway.

 _Surprised you’re not choking on Hale’s cock_.

Stiles tried to snort out a laugh, despite the pit in his stomach at hearing Theo’s voice repeat just one of the taunts he had come to endure. “How does it feel being done with high school football?” He desperately changed the subject.

Derek sighed, sounding relieved. “Good,” he plainly uttered. He put a quick pace to his steps, catching up with Stiles in order to put his arm around his shoulders once they exited the building.

Stiles stumbled into Derek’s side, fitting underneath Derek’s arm. Ever since they were kids, he fit under Derek’s arm, but it changed in high school. Derek’s arm was heavier—warmer. It took everything in Stiles to not wrap his arms around Derek’s torso.

It didn’t matter that they were basically the same height now, Derek still put his arm over Stiles’ shoulders when he felt like it. Stiles liked it more than he should have—the affection of the most popular person would do that to anyone starving for attention.

And Stiles was starved for affection if Derek didn’t give it to him.

“It feels nice to be done with the bullshit,” Derek finally stated. His hand rested loosely over Stiles’ shoulder, his fingers just touching over Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles snorted. He kept his eyes on the Camaro, knowing if he looked at Derek their faces would be too close. “You do realize if you go to one of those fancy football schools, you’ll end up on a team full of diva players, right?”

“My personal life will have nothing to do with them,” Derek countered.

Stiles snuck a side glance at Derek. “Well, according to everyone, you’re going to be named MVP, fourth year in a row.”

Derek smiled to himself. He slipped his arm from Stiles’ shoulders, popping the Camaro’s trunk to throw his gym bag in the back. He looked at Stiles. “Kind of gets anticlimactic.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get lucky at the party,” Stiles retorted, aimlessly walking over to the passenger door. He looked at Derek above the car’s roof when he didn’t answer.

Derek closed the trunk, jingling the keys in his hand as he looked down at them. He made a slight face before looking up at Stiles. “Is that what you’re going to be doing?”

Stiles released an unsure laugh, not knowing what Derek was getting at. “Not when I’m next to you,” he playfully replied instead, pulling open the passenger door. “I’m invisible then.”

~*~

Stiles was grateful Betty’s offered a decent booth size, feeling overwhelmed with just how many people wanted Derek at their table. He was about to wander off when Derek’s hand grabbed his, pulling him into a booth right after him.

Derek had been quiet during the car ride, his leather jacket thrown over the console and falling into the back seat. He leaned his elbow against the console as he shifted with ease, listening to the recap Stiles offered of what had been happening in the bleachers. He didn’t realize he was speeding until Stiles told him to slow down—“My dad won’t want to give you a ticket, dude.” The faster they got to the diner, they could call it a night, though.

Stiles sat beside Derek in the booth, joined quickly by Boyd and Erica. Isaac and Scott wound up sitting across from them, Allison sitting in Scott’s lap as they all continued to chatter. The booth was beyond capacity, though no one seemed to mind when they realized it was because of Derek.

More than one person congratulated Derek on a game well played, usually reaching over Stiles or Isaac.

Derek’s arm was resting on the booth’s seat, just behind Stiles, his body angled towards Stiles with his back pressed against the wall. His leg was bent, his knee flush against Stiles’ thigh. It was normal for them to be squished together like this, but the more Stiles started to think about it, the weirder he started to feel. He barely sat like this with Heather, unable to think about the last time they were even slightly public with their affection.

Stiles looked at Boyd and Isaac, their shoulders pressed against one another, Erica pressed against Boyd’s shoulder as she laughed at Isaac’s story. Erica’s beautifully manicured hand draped over Boyd’s shoulder as she leaned against him.

Derek faintly laughed at the end of Isaac’s story, his arm moving was a reminder of its weight behind Stiles.

“We should probably get going soon if we want to make an appearance,” Scott stated when he looked at his phone to see the time.

“Don’t really have to go,” Derek finally replied. He wasn’t surprised when everyone looked at him strangely.

“Jackson’s going to be pissed if you don’t show up,” Isaac said to Derek.

Derek picked up one of the straw wrappers from the table, flicking it at Isaac. “Jackson’s house is going to be a mess regardless of me showing up.”

Stiles looked at Derek.

“Everyone wants to celebrate your win,” Scott piped up.

“Their win,” Erica corrected Scott. “My man was just as much a factor in their victory,” she added, turning and giving Boyd a peck on the cheek.

“Isaac helped,” Stiles added.

“Thanks, Stilinski,” Isaac exasperated.

Stiles smiled, grabbing a fry from the basket. “But seriously, are we not going?” He looked at Derek.

Derek looked at Stiles, his free hand twisting his cup around on the table. He brushed condensation away with his thumb as a distraction when he looked away from Stiles’ gaze. “We could,” he half shrugged.

“Your last big farewell,” Boyd offered.

Derek shook his head. “Make an appearance then,” he uttered, looking at Stiles.

~*~

He had left Derek’s side for less than half an hour after they first arrived. Heather wasn’t answering her phone now, and he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do. He pushed through the crowd of cheering, and insanely drunk, teenagers in order to get to Derek. He hesitated when he saw Theo was near the keg with Jackson.

People were cheering and chanting Derek’s name, the group erupting in excitement when Derek gracefully dismounted his hand stand from the keg.

Derek’s expression blanked when he saw Stiles, as if he hadn’t been expecting him. He suddenly smiled brightly, moving forward to hug Stiles tightly against his chest.

Stiles allowed Derek to embrace him, his hands touching Derek’s shoulder blades. He looked over Derek’s shoulder, seeing Theo glaring at them.

“Jackson bet I couldn’t handle it,” Derek explained, pressing his forehead against Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles pulled back from Derek, helping to keep him from swaying. “And now you’re smashed.”

Derek hesitantly laughed, wrapping his arm around Stiles, enjoying the warmth of his body pressed against his. He had left his jacket in the Camaro, knowing he’d misplace it in the party, and he didn’t realize the chill he felt until Stiles left his side. He held Stiles close, so much closer than he normally did. He would pretend it was the alcohol influencing him.

“I should find Heather,” Stiles stated, stumbling to the side when Derek swayed. His hand pressing against Derek’s chest to stable himself.

Derek shook his head. “She’s around somewhere.”

“She’s by the pool,” Lydia spoke above the booming music.

Derek partially glared at Lydia after Jackson handed him a bottle of Jager.

Stiles reached a hand up in concern, touching Derek’s arm that rested on his shoulders.

Derek hesitated, looking down at the bottle of Jager.

This was why Derek stopped going to parties. He didn’t like who he was when he drank—he didn’t like being like his father.

Alcoholism ran in his family, and he was ashamed to admit that he knew he could drink double what he’s had—that he _had_ typically drank double of what he had. Everyone wanted to see him drink, to be the cool guy who could drink more than the others.

Stiles took the bottle from Derek’s hand when people started to chant for Derek to down it. He took a big gulp of it, the courage he needed, before handing it back to Jackson. He waited for Jackson’s hand to be just out of reach, then let go of the bottle. It slipped through Jackson’s fingers and bounced off the carpet.

“Fuck, Stilinski!” Jackson yelled at him.

Derek pulled Stiles back with him, away from the stained carpet and spilt bottle.

“You’re so fucking lucky,” Jackson snapped at Stiles.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Derek suddenly snapped as he took a step towards Jackson.

“He wouldn’t be here if you didn’t invite him,” Jackson countered at Derek.

Stiles wrapped his arm in front of Derek, his hand gripping tightly on Derek’s henley to stop him from fighting when he felt the lurch in Derek’s movements. “Ignore him,” he uttered as he steered Derek away from Jackson. “He’s being an ass.”

“Yeah, he is,” Lydia stated, lightly tapping a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. It was her way of warning him to back off.

Stiles walked Derek out to the backyard, finding even more people hanging out around the pool. He sat Derek down against one of the pillars that circled the pool. “Tell me you’re not going to fall in the water.”

Derek smiled. “I’ll sit right here,” he promised. He watched Stiles walking around the fringe of the gathered group, his smile faltering when he saw that Heather was sitting on the edge of the pool with the others.

Stiles touched Heather’s shoulder, gaining her attention.

“Hey! You came,” Heather spoke in a slightly clipped tone, her smile seeming forced.

Stiles looked down at her legs in the pool, observing the others around them. He didn’t know who they were, figuring they might have been Heather’s friends.

“A bunch of people went to Betty’s,” Stiles explained, allowing her to pull him down for a quick kiss.

Heather scrunched her nose at the mention of the diner. “Gross,” she answered.

Stiles turned to look back at Derek, worried he might have wandered off. He was vaguely aware of Heather saying something else, though the music was loud and her friends were obnoxious.

Derek was sitting exactly where Stiles left him, his eyes closed as he pressed his head back against the pillar.

“Okay?” Heather asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles answered. “I’m going to get Derek home, I think he’s tired from the game.”

“Or just drunk,” one of Heather’s friends scoffed. “Someone said he did a keg stand earlier.”

“Well, we all know his dad’s a drunk,” Heather uttered with a scoffing laugh.

Stiles froze, an anger snapping in his spine. “Heather, that’s not funny,” he firmly stated, his voice barely hiding his anger as he bristled at her callousness.

Heather rolled her eyes at Stiles. “How often do you bring his drunk ass home?”

“Not that often, actually,” Stiles curtly replied. He didn’t care if he was seen as being a difficult boyfriend for not letting Heather’s comments slide. “He’s not his dad.”

“Whatever,” Heather forcefully stated. She didn’t want to get into a fight in front of her friends. “Bring him home.”

Stiles clenched his hand into a fist, wishing he had the nerve to say something else.

“I’ll see you, alright?”

Stiles sharply nodded, standing up quickly as he left Heather behind to go back to Derek.

Derek looked up when he heard Stiles’ approaching steps. He smiled up at him, slowly reaching up to take Stiles’ offered hand.

~*~

“I’m sorry I ruined tonight,” Derek softly confessed his regret.

“You didn’t,” Stiles argued, his hands twisting some on the steering wheel.

“Just drop me off at my house,” Derek instructed Stiles. “You can take the Camaro home.”

“I thought you said no one was home at your house,” Stiles replied, driving once more when he realized the stoplight was green—likely for a while before he noticed.

“I’m not a child, Stiles,” Derek bit out. “I think I can be alone for a night.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what clenched in his stomach. “Derek, you’re sleeping at my house so I know you don’t choke on your vomit.”

Derek huffed in disinterest, but he didn’t argue with Stiles. He closed his eyes as he started to drift in and out of sleep.

~*~

Stiles was pulling out some clothes, taking a pair of sweatpants out for Derek. He turned around, offering them to him. He pulled the sweatpants back against his chest when Derek walked by him.

Derek tripped over his feet as he toed out of his shoes. He yanked his shirt off over his head, tossing it down onto the floor by Stiles’ bed. He plopped down on the mattress, hand fiddling with his belt. He managed to get his pants down his hips before he fell back, staring up at Stiles’ ceiling as he started to get the spins.

He remembered drinking a good half of a bottle Jackson had given him even before the keg stand. He shouldn’t have, knowing his sobriety would go out the window that night if he did. But Stiles walking away to find Heather annoyed him. Everyone else had been staring at him expectantly, and it caved his confidence at denying the alcohol pushed at him.

He drew in a deep breath when he felt his jeans being pulled off the rest of the way. He looked up, seeing Stiles pulling his jeans off his legs. He felt a twinge of warmth pool in his gut before frowning when Stiles focused on the pair of jeans instead of him.

Stiles folded Derek’s jeans, bending down to pick up his discarded shirt as well. He forced himself not to look at Derek.

Derek turned, crawling up the rest of the way to settle into Stiles’ bed.

“You don’t want to shower?”

Derek grunted as he shook his head. He twisted, shifting his hips and legs to get under Stiles’ blankets. He pulled Stiles’ favorite pillow close, hugging it against his chest. He peered an eye open to look at Stiles when he felt the blankets being lifted to cover him more. He grabbed Stiles’ wrist before he could pull away, his coordination likely giving away that he wasn’t as drunk as everyone likely thought.

Stiles looked down curiously at Derek.

“Stay,” Derek mumbled, pushing the blanket down below his hips.

Stiles hesitated, forcing his eyes to stay on Derek’s face despite being aware that Derek was pushing the blankets away. “Der, both of us won’t fit,” he argued, his throat dry.

“We always sleep together when we have sleepovers,” Derek replied, pulling Stiles down into the bed.

Stiles’ knee hit the bed, his hands pressing against the mattress on either side of Derek’s ribs, unintentionally boxing Derek in beneath his body.

The last night they slept in Stiles’ bed, they were fourteen and Derek hadn’t gained his muscle mass for football. Their sleepovers typically happened at Derek’s, though less and less as high school came to a close. That meant they typically slept in Derek’s bed—his queen bed, not Stiles’ twin.

Derek offered up Stiles’ pillow, an olive branch to get Stiles to stay.

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, faintly nodding for the first time. “Okay, I just have to shower.”

Derek nodded, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

Stiles slipped out of Derek’s hold, lingering for a moment as he watched Derek sleep.

He wasn’t sure when he became attracted to Derek, friendship turning into an admiration tinged with affection. But that was always how Stiles felt about his friends. Derek just happened to be _more_. So much more that the lines started to blur.

Stiles brushed the back of his hand across Derek’s cheek in a loving manner, pulling his hand back when Derek snuffled out something unintelligible.

 _We all know his dad’s a drunk_.

Heather said it so easy, as if that was something for Derek to be ashamed of.

Derek had, in the past, drank at parties, where he gave in to peer pressure—something Stiles didn’t really understand at first.

But Derek was only popular as long as the crowd liked what he did. And Stiles wondered if Derek would ever get away from that.

Just like that, he was eleven years old, staring at Derek in wide-eyed horror when he saw the fresh bruise circling Derek’s eye.

Stiles couldn’t help remembering how scared he had been to tell his dad why he didn’t want Derek to go home that night. He hugged his pillow tightly when John asked if there were other bruises, his stomach twisting when Derek only nodded.

Derek slept in Stiles’ bed for the next month while Talia figured out the next steps to take. Derek’s grip on Stiles would tighten, his body stiffening whenever they heard the Sheriff’s footsteps in the hallway.

Stiles would run his fingers through Derek’s hair until they both fell asleep. He wasn’t old enough to understand it then, but it was easy to realize now that Derek was afraid those steps weren’t the Sheriff’s.

Stiles pulled himself away from the bed, gathering up the sweatpants he had meant for Derek to use. He needed to take a shower and try to forget a few things before bed—primarily, the fact that Beacon High’s star wide-receiver and future Prom King was currently sleeping in his bed, nearly naked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A side warning for Heather's character: she has a very minor appearance in the show, and I have take a very small aspect of what she showed in her character (her main goal in the show is to 'have sex with Stiles', which doesn't get to happen), when I am fully confident that she was likely a very lovely character before she was BRUTALLY murdered off screen, (which is only one of the things I take issue with the tv show). Heather is not a very nice person in this fic, so I apologize if you really like her or don't agree with this interpretation.
> 
> Another side note: thank you all for your lovely comments, and I wanted to state (because I forgot to) that both Stiles and Derek are super oblivious to the other liking them--even though it is obvious to us. Many of the situations between Stiles and Derek are from personal experiences; even Stiles' experience with Heather is something very similar to what I experienced with an ex. I'm not saying you can't take issue with it if you do.
> 
> Anyways, ENJOY, and thank you for your lovely comments and the attention you've dedicated to this story <3

Stiles woke very overheated for the first time since his dad forgot to turn the heat off when spring turned into a hellscape of just too hot to handle any house heating. He grumbled, reaching a hand out to push the blankets off himself, before realizing he wasn’t really covered in blankets.

Stiles looked down at the weight resting across his waist, recognizing the muscular forearm as Derek’s, even without seeing his tattoo at first. He reached his hand down, the pad of his thumb tracing the tattoo with ease.

There was a small tattoo of a crescent moon on the inside curve of Derek’s wrist, the gorgeous outline of black and white ink. The white created craters and marks throughout the crescent shape, as if it was an image from a telescope.

It was beautiful, a permanent mark that was ephemeral in its design.

Stiles remembered the weekend Derek got the tattoo. They were in Beacon Heights during their spring break, having walked down main street about a dozen times with Derek eyeing the tattoo parlor each time. Fate had a funny way of presenting itself, Peter walking out of the tattoo shop on their thirteenth circuit.

Peter laughed when Derek asked him if he had to show his ID, his features softening some when Derek looked at him in earnest.

Stiles never would have imagined Peter hooking up with a tattoo artist, let alone the owner of a tattoo parlor. Let alone Chris Argent, only son of their small town conservative Mayor Gerard Argent.

Chris took one look at Derek and Stiles before glaring at Peter.

“He’s a Christmas baby, he’ll be eighteen before they even realize he has it,” Peter nonchalantly announced.

“It’s Spring, Peter,” Chris partially growled at him.

Peter gently shrugged his shoulders, a wicked smile curling around his mouth as he bit down on his bottom lip, worrying it some.

Derek was too busy looking at the portfolio to see his uncle flirting with Chris, but Stiles was stuck staring at them.

“Come on, Talia won’t care,” Peter stated, leaning over the counter Chris was behind. He reached his hand out to run his fingers along the unbuttoned collar of Chris’ henley, brushing beneath his shirt to caress his chest.

“Talia hates me,” Chris corrected Peter, though he didn’t do anything to stop him.

Peter’s fingers traced the tattoo on Chris’ pectoral, gently digging his nail in just outside the line work. “She hates your family, that’s totally different,” he reasoned.

Chris sighed, shaking his head.

Peter knew he won when Chris unfolded his arms and stood up closer to the counter. He smiled, “I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He winked at Chris as he turned back to Derek and Stiles. He caught Stiles looking, knowing he had been watching his flirtations with Chris. He didn’t say anything when he saw the flush on Stiles’ cheeks and the flash of guilt in his eyes. “Tell me I didn’t trade sexual favors to get you a tattoo and you still haven’t decided.”

Derek ignored Peter as he continued to look through the portfolio.

“Someone is still paying for the session, regardless of said favors,” Chris commented as he walked back to the tattooing station to start prepping.

“I think I like this one,” Derek finally admitted, looking at Stiles.

Stiles looked down at where Derek was pointing to black and white symbols on one of the portfolio’s pages. He faintly smiled as he reached out to touch the image of the crescent moon, tracing the line work. “Where are you going to get it?”

Derek paused, thinking about it for a moment as he looked down at his hands. He finally offered up his left hand, displaying his wrist.

Stiles drew in an easy breath, nodding. “That’s a good spot.” It felt weird sitting in the parlor with Derek, unsure why he wanted to get a random tattoo. Maybe it meant something more, maybe it was just because Derek wanted ink on his skin. Whatever the reason, Stiles felt special sharing it with him.

“Ready when you are,” Chris called from the other room.

Derek stood up, pausing to look back at Stiles, as if he expected Stiles to follow him.

“I think I should probably hang out here,” Stiles explained to Derek, hesitation in his voice. “Don’t want a repeat like when I got the flu shot.”

Derek nodded, turning to head back to find Chris.

“I’ll keep him company,” Peter replied, plopping down on the waiting couch next to Stiles.

Stiles was quiet as he waited beside Peter, his knee bouncing to life when the buzz of the tattoo gun started up.

Peter pulled out a slender metal case from his jacket pocket, unclasping it to retrieve a cigarette. He offered it up to Stiles as he fished around his other pocket for a lighter.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Stiles uttered instead of answering Peter’s silent question.

Peter laughed as he pulled a cigarette out, placing the filter between his lips as he closed the case. “Worried it will kill me?” He asked, flipping open his lighter. He sparked the grinder, leaning the cigarette into the flame.

“It’s a bad habit,” Stiles countered. “You could accidentally make someone else pick it up.”

“You mean Derek,” Peter knowing stated, dragging in a deep lungful of smoke. “Don’t worry, the golden boy would never.”

“Just like he’d never get a tattoo.”

Peter scoffed as he pocketed his lighter once more. “Maybe I am a bad influence,” he suddenly stated, pulling the cigarette from his lips. He leaned back, his arm resting on the back of the couch as he observed Stiles.

Several minutes passed between them, various people walking by the window as they went about their days. No amount of people watching was going to prepare Stiles for Peter’s next question.

“You’re not going to ask me, are you?”

Stiles hesitated before looking back at Peter. “Ask you what?”

Peter’s smile grew as he lifted his hand back to his lips, taking another puff off his dying cigarette. “Chris and I are fucking.”

Stiles blinked a few times, unsure how he could respond to that statement. “You’re consenting adults.”

“You seemed cross,” Peter remarked with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I… wasn’t,” Stiles softly argued. His palms were sweating the longer he was under Peter’s knowing gaze.

“Not going to ask how it works?”

Stiles was quiet, trying to ignore the ball of anxiety twisting up his insides. He hated that Peter was playing this game, knowing the older man had figured it out with only an apparent look. “Sex ed has taught me well,” he finally stated when he realized Peter wasn’t going to change the subject.

“Not everyone figures it out right away, you know,” Peter offered. He was looking at Stiles when the boy turned back to catch his gaze. “I knew I liked men for a long time,” he explained, absently twisting the cigarette between his fingers. “Chris wasn’t so sure until after his divorce. Everyone has a different story.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “You’re lucky to be together then,” he finally replied, jealous of the envy he felt at knowing he’d one day understand it all, just not today.

“He has an ex-wife who wants to disembowel me, and an eighteen year old daughter who I might actually be closer in age to than him—though he doesn’t like to talk to me about that,” Peter stated, as if he hadn’t just strung such an insane sentence together.

Stiles turned his head to the side, his eyes narrowing before he suddenly realized what Peter was saying. “Chris is … Allison’s dad?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Not interested in her or her name,” he concluded.

“How old are you?”

A laugh loudly barked out from Peter as he leaned forward. He opened the cigarette case, snuffing out the end of his cigarette before slipping the rest into bed with the others.

“Chris isn’t a cradle robber, don’t worry,” Peter finally offered.

“I just … never knew how old you were,” Stiles replied, trying to pretend that he still wasn’t curious.

“Older than you, younger than Chris,” Peter answered.

Stiles looked Peter up and down, trying to see if he could make an educated guess.

“It’s rude to stare, Stiles,” Peter stated as he stood up. “Derek wouldn’t like you wandering.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed as he was about to ask what Peter meant.

“I told you that you can’t smoke in here,” Chris snapped as he walked out into the waiting room.

“It was Stiles,” Peter half-heartedly stated.

Stiles kept quiet as he stood to look at Derek. He didn’t want to ask Peter what he meant, unsure if the answer would be a hopeful one.

Derek was looking down at the clear film wrapped around his wrist, gently touching the new ink. His skin was hot, even beneath the wrapping, though it hadn’t really turned as red as he expected. He looked up at Stiles, smiling at him when he came closer.

Stiles reached out a hand to take hold of Derek’s forearm. He pulled himself closer to inspect the tattoo, faintly smiling at it.

Stiles tried not to squawk in indignation when Derek’s body shifted against him, pulling him out of his memory. His hand tightened a bit on Derek’s wrist as he was dragged a few inches across the bed, held tightly against Derek’s bare chest. He tried not to focus on the fact that his ass was currently settling into Derek’s lap; or just how seamlessly they seemed to fit together. Sweatpants, he should have kept the sweatpants on when he got in bed. He was grateful that he wore his shirt, unsure if he would have been able to have Derek’s naked skin plastered against his.

“Ticklin’ me,” Derek mumbled into Stiles’ neck.

Stiles blushed at the feeling of Derek’s hot breath against his bare neck. “It’s late,” he finally managed to get the words out, thinking Derek would let go of him and they could separate.

Derek shifted, leaning on his elbow as he propped himself up to look at the clock on Stiles’ night stand.

11:36.

Stiles turned his shoulders some, looking up at Derek as he looked at the clock. He didn’t realize Derek had pushed his arm under his neck, wondering if Derek would realize that his forearm was acting as Stiles’ pillow or not. He took in Derek’s profile, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips when he noticed Derek’s hair was in chaotic disarray.

If anyone could make bedhead look adorable and sexy at the same time, it was Derek.

Derek looked down at Stiles, as if he could feel Stiles looking at him. “I think we should veg out,” he finally stated, as if it wasn’t what he intended to say in the moment.

“Is vegging out for Derek Hale eating twice the servings of celery?” Stiles smirked at Derek’s harmless glare. “You look like grumpy cat with that hair.”

“Not funny,” Derek retorted.

Without thinking, Stiles reached his hand up to run his fingers through Derek’s hair to straighten it. He realized what he did when Derek let him do it, even pressing into his hand.

That was not the ideal moment for someone to walk into Stiles’ bedroom, but that was the moment Heather had chosen to storm in.

Derek’s body was alert the moment he saw that someone was walking into the room unannounced.

Stiles startled, sitting up and pulling his body out from under Derek. He didn’t think it looked like anything serious, until he saw the look of anger on Heather’s face.

“What the fuck?” Heather loudly demanded.

Stiles felt like his entire body was on fire, the flush rising up his neck. “Heather—”

Derek rolled his eyes when she stormed out of the bedroom, moving to stand up from the bed. He turned to look at Stiles when he didn’t see him stirring from the bed.

Stiles was staring at the spot on the floor where Heather had been standing, his stomach suddenly lodged in his throat. They weren’t doing anything, he kept telling himself on repeat. But the treacherous voice in the back of his head told him he had wished they were.

“Stiles,” Derek softly stated as he sat back on the bed, reaching a hand out to touch Stiles’ hand.

Stiles startled, eyes immediately snapping to Derek.

“I didn’t hear a door close,” Derek explained. “I think she’s waiting for you to run after her.”

Stiles felt sick, because of course he’d have to now face it all head on. He wanted to flee to the bathroom and throw up until he couldn’t anymore. He should have broken up with Heather last month, after their disastrous attempt at a first time. Did he lead her on? Did he know he liked Derek before this moment?

His whole life felt like it was suddenly converging on this point, as if an answer he had been looking for was now revealed for all to see.

He didn’t just have a crush on Derek. Somewhere, he had fallen in love with Derek.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Derek stated, though he didn’t move from his spot beside Stiles. “Give you both some privacy.”

Stiles weakly nodded in agreement. It would be the best way to talk to Heather—while Derek was unable to hear anything above the noise of running water.

Derek gently squeezed Stiles’ hand before standing up. He walked over and grabbed the sweatpants Stiles had last night. He paused by the door, looking back at Stiles. He hesitated as if he wanted to say something before he disappeared into the hall.

Stiles took a deep breath, waiting until he heard the shower turn on before he began his descent. He saw Heather standing by the door, though she seemed as if she wasn’t prepared to move just yet.

Heather’s arms were crossed over her chest as she turned on Stiles.

Stiles wrapped his arms around himself, regretting that he forgot to put pants on now that he was downstairs with Heather.

“What the fuck, Stiles?” Heather demanded once again as she rounded on him. “Breakfast with my family, remember?”

Stiles let out an unsteady breath. He didn’t remember agreeing to breakfast. What had Heather been saying by the pool last night? He hadn’t been listening.

“I looked like a fucking idiot,” Heather angrily huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” Stiles explained.

“And I come over to check on you, and find you in bed with him!”

Stiles’ heart leapt into his throat as Heather pointed towards the stairs. He was terrified Derek would hear her raised voice.

“Practically dry humping,” Heather snapped.

Stiles opened his mouth to argue. “Heather, that’s not—”

“Everyone said it was a mistake to date you,” Heather continued, her tone angered and clipped with annoyance.

Stiles wasn’t sure he even heard any hurt in her words. “He was drunk from Jackson’s party. His family won’t be home until next week—”

“You’re so obsessed with him and any little attention he gives you,” Heather steamrolled over Stiles, tearing apart every little fear he had that anyone would point out and breathe life into it. “You’re like a puppy, starving for attention. He just has to look at you, and you’d do whatever he wanted.”

“Fucking hell, Heather,” Stiles finally snapped. “He’s my oldest friend— we’ve been friends since Kindergarten.”

“And I’m supposed to be your girlfriend,” Heather countered.

Stiles was quiet, feeling like he was folding in on himself. He knew Derek was still showering, hearing the water running. He wanted Heather to be gone before Derek got out, knowing Derek would defend him—it would turn into a full blow out fight, with Stiles’ crush being thrown in Derek’s face and it would ruin everything.

“I’m done, Stiles,” Heather curtly stated, her tone completely void of anything as she stared at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles looked at her, not knowing what she wanted him to say.

Heather scoffed, cruelly. She shook her head. “You won’t even touch me. I can’t even tell if my boyfriend cares about me.”

He knew Heather was still pissed he had panicked when they tried to have sex for the first time last month. Panicked … he had a panic attack, unable to breathe as he pulled away from her, accidentally kicking the condoms off the bed and fleeing for the bathroom.

He felt like shit, leaving her house with her brow still set in annoyance. He started to feel better when he got home to Derek sitting in the living room with his dad, both of them watching the football game.

Derek took one look at Stiles and knew. He always knew when something was wrong—when the panic attacks left Stiles hollowed out. He pulled Stiles out to the backyard, sitting on the edge of the sandbox with Stiles as he patiently waited in silence for Stiles to say what he needed to.

Derek didn't make fun of Stiles. He hugged him, telling him it wasn't his fault.

“Christ, Theo was right,” Heather muttered.

“What?” Stiles weakly uttered, his stomach lodged in his chest at the mention of Theo’s name.

“You’re gagging for it.”

Stiles flinched at her comment. He didn’t respond, conscious of her exiting the house when her spare key was flung at him followed by the front door banging close. His hands were heavy. He then realized he couldn’t hear the water running, which meant Derek was no longer showering.

Dread filled Stiles like a weighted balloon ready to pop as his thoughts raced to understand what Derek could have possibly heard.

~*~

Derek was sitting on the windowsill next to Stiles’ desk, his gaze watching Heather leave. “I’m guessing you’re not going out tonight,” he started, turning to look at Stiles with a faint smile. His smile broke, his lips falling into a grim line when he saw Stiles’ vacant expression. He pushed off his perch, taking a few steps towards Stiles. He stopped short of pulling Stiles into a hug.

Stiles drew in a shaky breath. “Heather broke up with me.”

Derek looked up at Stiles, eerily quiet as he let Stiles work through it without putting his foot in his mouth.

Stiles exhaled deeply. “She was mad at me last night— then this morning … I guess that was her final straw.”

Derek reached a hand out to touch Stiles’ arm, taking him by the bicep. “You were taking care of me— I’ll tell her it was my fault.”

Stiles shook his head.

Derek released a tense sigh when Stiles’ shoulders started to shake.

Stiles felt like everything was falling apart at the seams. He couldn’t ignore his attraction to Derek anymore—hell, his girlfriend broke up with him because of it. Because Derek was always first on Stiles’ list of people to please. And here Derek was, standing in the middle of Stiles’ bedroom, staring at Stiles breaking down.

And on Monday, everyone at school would know Heather broke up with Stiles, because Stiles was too busy chasing Derek.

Derek reached his hand up, cupping the back of Stiles’ neck. He guided Stiles into a hug, pressing Stiles’ face into the crook of his neck.

Stiles’ hands flew to Derek’s back, as if they were magnetic. His fingers tightened on Derek’s shirt, gripping in a vice when a few tears started to break him down. He pressed his nose along the curve of Derek’s collarbone, breathing in deeply as he tried to calm himself.

Derek’s hard, sure body was the only thing holding him up. Derek’s arms wrapped around his waist and shoulders, hand a solid weight on Stiles’ neck. He wanted Derek to take control of the situation—to tell him it was going to be okay.

Derek’s thumb brushed along the short hairs at the base of Stiles’ head. He noticed Stiles had started to grow his hair longer in the recent months, unsure what changed since his days of buzzing it short. He liked being able to tangle his fingers in Stiles’ short locks, feeling anchored to him.

The ball of anxiety in Stiles’ chest started to unwind. He drew in a series of short breaths, breathing in small whiffs of Derek.

Derek wore a cologne that was more mature than a teenager should have been able to pick out—spices, wood, even the faintest scent of flowers. Despite his shower, he still smelled like his own deodorant and cologne from yesterday.

“Stiles,” Derek softly spoke his name.

“Just a little while longer,” Stiles shakily stated.

“You can hug me as long as you want,” Derek reassured, his hand rubbing up and down Stiles’ spine in a soothing manner. “Your dad’s home, though, and looking at my car in confusion.”

Stiles pulled back from Derek, sniffling some as he looked out the window to see his dad’s cruiser parked behind Derek’s Camaro.

“I’ll let your dad know I’m staying,” Derek carefully stated, waiting for a moment to see if Stiles wanted to reject his offer.

Stiles nodded, wiping a hand at his cheeks. He wasn’t even upset with Heather breaking up with him, but he knew Derek wouldn’t realize that. “I can let my dad know.”

“Hey,” Derek softly stated, his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “You always take care of me,” he easily admitted. “Let me take care of you this time.”

Stiles silently nodded, unable to argue with Derek. It sounded nice, having someone else worry about it.

~*~

John didn’t ask what happened, merely hugged Stiles when Derek went into the kitchen to see about food. He felt better knowing Derek was staying when he saw that Stiles had been crying. He had to sleep, another shift coming up sooner than he hoped. He could push to rearrange it, but Stiles seemed adamant that he’d spend the time with Derek.

After a half-hearted video game session, Stiles was surprised he fell asleep.

Derek was sitting on Stiles’ bed, book in one hand as he held the pages open. A faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips, as if he found whatever he had just read amusing.

Stiles watched Derek, careful not to move as to continue pretending to be asleep. He didn’t want either of them to move, enjoying the feel of Derek’s hand gently resting on his ankle.

Derek was always beautiful, regardless of what he was wearing or doing. But when he was reading, concentrating on the information he was consuming, his brow would squint ever so slightly. The wrinkle in Derek’s forehead would crease and then smooth out whenever he got invested in a paragraph.

Derek gently bit his bottom lip, a faint smirk taking over as he turned the page.

Then Stiles saw the cover.

Derek was reading Stiles’ romance novel. His  _ gay  _ romance novel.

Stiles sat up suddenly, startling Derek into carefully folding the book closed with his index finger between the pages so he wouldn’t lose his spot.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Derek greeted him.

“How long was I out?” Stiles quickly asked, his gaze flickering down to the book, trying to determine how far Derek had gotten.

Derek looked down at the book. “About two hours,” he shrugged his shoulder. “Your dad left for work—he said he left money by the phone for pizza when you woke up.”

Stiles folded his hands together into his lap.

Derek let his hand slip from the book, reaching over to offer it to Stiles.

Stiles took the book, placing it in his lap.

“What pizza are you craving?” Derek asked as he inched off the bed, standing up to stretch some.

Stiles gripped the book tightly. It was the book he bought in a second hand shop while visiting his great aunt in Washington. It was a cliche, trashy romance novel where a popular jock fell for the nerd. He pressed his fingers into the pages, estimating where Derek had read to. His stomach dropped, realizing that Derek must have gotten to the first kiss—at least. He definitely got to the pining.

“Eddy’s okay?”

Stiles looked up at Derek. He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, sounds good.”

~*~

Stiles frowned down at his phone, seeing the single status on his Facebook page staring back at him. Heather made it official with a change of profile picture, and checking in at the local bar downtown where more than one teenager would get drunk and stupid on a weekend before the cops showed.

“Everyone knows now,” Stiles stated to himself.

Derek looked at Stiles. “Knows what?”

Stiles turned his phone to show Derek.

Derek frowned at Stiles’ Facebook profile. He didn’t go on social media that often, usually being tagged more than he posted. He was lucky his phone remembered his passwords for him, knowing he’d be locked out of them if he tried logging in manually. He pulled out of his phone, opening the Facebook app Cora had downloaded. His eyebrow twitched with the flood of notifications.

“I should probably change my profile pic,” Stiles mumbled as he searched through his previous posted photos. He kept his profile picture as the one photo Heather approved of. It felt weird being free to change it. He hesitated when he saw a few of his previous profile pictures being about a dozen in a row of him with Derek. Sometimes there were others, but Derek was always there, right next to him.

Stiles felt sick when he saw the new notification in the corner of the app. The little red ‘1’ was glaring at him, daring him to click it and find out. It suddenly multiplied. He drew in a breath, clicking on it.

_ Derek Hale tagged you in a photo. _

Stiles sat up, clicking on the notification.

Derek’s new profile picture was of them at Betty’s. Erica must have taken it last night.

Derek looked more like a rocker than an athlete. His white shirt popping out thanks to the black leather of his jacket, the buttons undone to show his collarbone and part of his chest. He had a leather necklace strap dipping below the open ‘v’ of his shirt—it held the bottle cap Stiles gave him for his 16th birthday. He let his beard grow in over November, and Stiles couldn’t help remember the pulse of attraction he felt when Derek said he was going to keep it. He looked like he hustled billiards, and would be the last person Stiles should have wanted to bring home to his Sheriff father.

In the photo, Derek’s arm was around Stiles’ shoulders, both of them looking at someone just out of frame. Derek has a smile blazen on his face, hand curled against Stiles’ neck. Stiles can see the smile on his face, the genuine amusement and light laughter as he ducks his head. They look like a couple—anyone who didn’t know would come to that conclusion.

Another notification hit Stiles’ list as more and more people started to pile the likes on Derek’s changed profile picture. He could see the thumbs up and hearts pouring in.

Derek updated his profile sporadically, so people lost it when he did.

Stiles looked up at Derek.

Derek’s phone was face down on the floor between them, Derek watching the movie on TV as if he hadn’t just used social media to tell Heather to go fuck herself.

Derek felt Stiles looking at him, turning his head so their eyes met. “What?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Stiles started.

Derek shrugged one of his shoulders, hand reaching out for a slice of pizza from the table. “I don’t have to do a lot of things, Stiles.” He took a bite of pizza before dropping it down on his plate. “Erica sent me pictures from last night—I like that one.”

“You’re a dork,” Stiles fondly stated.

Derek faintly smiled as a soft chuckle escaped his chest. “And she lost out.”

Stiles’ heart fluttered.

“Are you following this?” Derek asked as he looked back at the movie.

Stiles laughed as he looked up in time to see another snowman on screen. “I think that’s the reason it has such shitty reviews.”

Derek stretched out, his bare feet almost touching the TV stand. He tucked one of his legs up, his foot disappearing beneath his thigh. His features were calm, looking as if he was actually trying to make sense of the disastrous movie they put on because they knew it wouldn’t hold their attention.

“You don’t want to go to the bonfire?” Stiles finally forced himself to ask.

Derek looked away from the TV. “Do you?” He quizzically asked.

Stiles hesitated before shaking his head. “It’s going to be our last one, really.”

“They’ll have them in the summer,” Derek replied, looking back at the TV. “Besides, I’m clearly invested.”

Stiles laughed, knowing he couldn’t tell who half the characters were. He swore he had seen Val Kilmer at one point, then gave up trying to figure out if it had been him. “I prefer hanging out with you,” he suddenly stated, unsure where that came from. He wanted to grab the words and force them back into his mouth the minute he felt sick with regret.

Derek wordlessly shifted, moving to lay down. He reclined, putting his head into Stiles’ lap so he could look up at him. He rested his head on Stiles’ thigh, the corner of his lips quirking up in a smile.

The leather strip of Derek’s necklace slid down into the droop of Derek’s clavicle, the bottle cap moving to rest in the curve of his collarbone.

It was a sentimental gift—Stiles said it was a joke, trying to not blush. When they were little, they played bartering, constantly handing things off to one another. Stiles liked to collect the bottle caps, and Derek would get them, always asking what he had to trade.

Stiles didn’t know if Derek remembered this one in particular. It had been from Peter’s hipster beer collection—one that Derek had stolen and, when he couldn’t twist the cap off like the soda ones, smashed into pieces. Derek said he wanted Stiles to have it because of the dragon on it. Stiles panicked when Derek said he didn’t want anything for it, and without thinking he pressed up onto the ball of his feet and kissed Derek.

Derek was always taller than him when they were kids.

He could always laugh it off that they were ten and he didn’t know kissing meant more. But part of him knew—he knew he wanted Derek to be his just as much as he wanted to be Derek’s.

Derek told Stiles his lips were chapped when his blush finally left his cheeks, but he didn’t let go of Stiles’ hand.

Stiles wanted to tell Derek it was the cap from their one fumbling kiss, but he chickened out, too scared to tell him just as some of the others filed into the Hale house for Derek’s party.

The next week, when Derek was wearing it around his neck, he acted casual in saying Laura started a jewelry crafting phase.

But Derek wore it a lot, only taking it off during football or if they went swimming.

Stiles couldn’t actually think of a time when he saw Derek without it.

“I prefer hanging out with you too,” Derek echoed Stiles’ earlier words, pulling Stiles’ thoughts back to the fact that Derek had his head in his lap.

Stiles offered a small smile, finally looking up at the TV. He tried not to think about the fact that Derek’s hair was brushing against his fingers, extremely tempted to push his hands through the loose locks.

He couldn’t admit how terrified he was to lose his best friend once graduation passed. He was scared what his life would look like once Derek left behind their small town—and him. They’d both move on and have new friends entering their lives.

Friends … because that’s what they were. This is what friends did ... right?

“There’s a marathon of  _ Nightmare on Elm Street _ next weekend at the drive-in,” Stiles suddenly stated. He remembered seeing the flyer at the station, his dad pointing it out to him like parents sometimes did when they saw something their kid might like without fully understanding. He dared to look down at Derek, holding his breath some when he realized Derek was still looking up at him. “Could be fun to rot our brains.”

Derek’s features didn’t move, making it hard for Stiles to know if he heard him, or was even interested. His eyes flickered back and forth, from Stiles’ eyes to his lips and back again. The faintest smile started to pull at his own lips, his eyebrows softening out to a warm welcome. “You know how much I love Wes Craven,” he finally uttered.

Stiles offered a small smile, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie Stiles and Derek are watching is [The Snowman (2017)](https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/the_snowman_2017). It is a wildly, bizarre film, but I had the most fun I've ever had in a movie theater watching it with my friend, as we died laughing from how ridiculous it is. If you want to watch it, please do so with no expectations. It's funnier that way.


	3. Chapter 3

“Rough break,” Lydia declared as she moved to stand next to Stiles, peering over his shoulder to see his notebook.

Stiles looked up at her before briefly looking around them to make sure they didn’t have an audience. “Thanks, I guess.”

Lydia seemed satisfied with Stiles’ answer before placing her books down beside him, ultimately taking the available seat.

Stiles looked at Lydia in confusion, unsure what she was planning on saying.

“Jackson is still pissed about his living room carpet,” Lydia lamented, turning open her collection of Shakespeare sonnets.

Stiles snorted, “He can afford to have it cleaned,” he replied before returning his attention to his notes.

Lydia hummed in agreement. “I know why you did it,” she simply stated.

Stiles froze mid-highlight, lifting the neon ink away from the page when he realized he might dampen a hole through the paper. He forced himself to look at Lydia.

Lydia was looking at Stiles above the cover of her book, a perfectly manicured eyebrow softly raising when Stiles didn’t argue.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, clicking the cap back onto the highlighter in order to stall in a panic over what to say. “He’s my best friend—”

“Scott is your best friend,” Lydia corrected Stiles. She leaned forward, getting closer to Stiles. “Derek is … different.”

Stiles held his breath. “Lydia, I don’t know … He’s my friend.”

Lydia’s frown took over as she finally closed her book. She placed a delicate hand on Stiles’ shaking knee to force it into submission as a still limb. “It’s a rumor— a stupid one.”

Stiles closed his eyes, his stomach unraveling.

“I don’t know if Heather said something about you two, but I told Jackson to keep his mouth shut. And neither Boyd or Isaac will say anything bad about you—”

“There is nothing bad about the way I feel about him,” Stiles suddenly snapped. Panic started to cut through him like a needle pierced through fabric—tearing, puncturing through the softest parts of him. He hurriedly looked around, relieved to see that no one was really paying them attention besides the librarian doing her rounds.

“I meant,” Lydia firmly started, waiting for Stiles to look her in the eyes. “No one is going to out you.”

Out you.

Stiles wanted to laugh. How could someone out him when he didn’t even fully know what type of closet he was in.

Maybe he ignored admitting it for so long because he was afraid of losing Derek. Maybe he knew his dad would love him, regardless, but that fear still settled deep and dreadful in his stomach. Maybe people would treat him differently.

But that didn’t matter.

Derek, Derek, Derek.

His brain kept telling him that if Derek knew, it would change things. Derek would change—because Stiles’ feelings would force him to.

It was stupid, unfounded fear. And Stiles felt every last ounce of it curl up and take home in the center of his chest.

“Thanks, Lyds, but I have to go,” Stiles softly uttered, hastily getting up and shoving his books into his bag. He didn’t care if pages and covers bent—he needed to get out of there. He didn’t wait for Lydia to answer him before he basically ran out the door in blinded necessity.

A whole semester left, and Stiles felt like his entire high school career was a lie. He had dated a pretty girl; he took AP classes with minor episodes of uncertainty and self-worth shattering his focus; he helped run the student committee for extracurriculars.

He was best friends with Derek Hale.

The answer that scared him most was how any of that could fit into his future.

“I know it is Monday, but can we skip until Winter break,” Scott bemoaned as he bumped his head against the locker next to Stiles’ open one.

“It’s not that bad,” Stiles softly stated as more people started to pile into the hallway.

Scott was quiet for a moment, side-eyeing Stiles. “We didn’t get a chance to chat this morning,” he started, a look of guilt in his expression.

Stiles shrugged his shoulder, glad that Scott had canceled their commute to school so he didn’t feel bad accepting Derek’s offer of a ride.

“I figured Derek would cheer you up more than I could,” Scott honestly stated.

Stiles closed his locker with more force than he had meant to. “I’m fine, really.”

Scott turned his head to the side, like a confused puppy dog, observing Stiles with uncertainty. “For real?” It was more a question of concern that Stiles was putting on a brave face.

Stiles nodded, surprised that Scott hadn’t heard whatever rumors Lydia had. “I’m good, buddy.”

Scott smiled at that. “Is Derek giving you a ride home?”

“Uh, yeah, we talked about it this morning,” Stiles confirmed.

“Oh! Allison and I were going bowling Friday,” Scott excitedly stated.

Stiles released a sigh, “Let me guess: with Lydia, which means Jackson, right?”

Scott winced. “Yeah, Jackson will be there,” he admitted. “But if you come, that means Derek will, and then Erica and Boyd might convince Isaac to go too.”

Stiles released a heavy breath as they walked down the school’s steps into the parking lot. He looked up at the Camaro, feeling relieved when he saw that Derek was leaning against the car’s trunk to wait. “Derek might not want to go, I can’t convince him if he doesn’t want to.”

“You kidding?” Scott playfully laughed, a small skip in his step as he descended into the parking lot beside Stiles. “You could ask Derek to go count ants, and he would. He skipped the last bonfire of our senior year to chill at your house. I think it is safe to say Derek Hale would jump off a bridge if you said he’d survive.”

Stiles watched Derek as they got closer to him, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“Plus, if Derek comes, Jackson will keep his mouth shut,” Scott commented, pleased with the thought of Jackson being quiet for the whole evening.

Stiles’ steps slowed some when he saw someone walking up to Derek. He recognized the cheerleading outfit she was wearing, his gut twisting when she got into Derek’s space.

“Isn’t that Jen?” Scott questioned in disinterest.

Stiles felt as if he was suddenly in Jaws. His vision was turning into a tunnel, as the world zoomed in on him and the atmosphere fell away behind him.

Jen was a sophomore on the JV cheerleading team, determined to climb her way into varsity and higher up the social ladder. And she was friends with Heather.

Derek had stood up when she called his name, taking a step back from her when she leaned in. His brow furrowed as she spoke to him.

“You okay?” Scott asked as he moved in front of Stiles.

Stiles hadn’t realized he stopped walking until he looked at Scott and noticed he wasn’t moving. When he looked back at Derek, Jen was walking off back to where she came from.

“Fine,” Stiles softly stated before following Scott towards Derek.

Derek looked at them, smiling when he saw Stiles.

“You guys didn’t miss much at the bonfire,” Scott announced, as if he hadn’t just been inquiring about Stiles’ ability to make Derek do things. “Greenburg threw up on Lydia’s shoes, it was a mess.”

Derek faintly laughed, standing from his relaxed position against the Camaro. “Sounds typical.” He silently gazed at Stiles, his brow furrowing when Stiles seemed determined to not look at him.

“Ah! Gotta go! I promised Allison I’d give her a ride—something about her grandfather having a party thing,” Scott suddenly exclaimed, as if his epiphany smacked him upside the head. He ran off, waving at both Stiles and Derek as he practically flew through the parking lot.

Derek shook his head as he shuffled his bag onto his shoulder more. “Oh, I have a surprise,” he stated with confidence as he pulled his paper out of his partially opened bag to produce his lab report.

Stiles looked up at Derek.

“Guess who passed Harris’ death spiral?” Derek announced as he held out his lab report for Stiles to see.

Stiles smiled at the 93 written on Derek’s lab report, looking up at him. “I told you that you’d be fine. Harris is too afraid to be an unfair ass with you.”

Derek faintly laughed as he dropped his bag into the back seat. “What can I say, I’m a god.”

Stiles laughed as he got into the passenger seat. He kept his composure as best as he could, even when Derek placed his arm across the back of Stiles’ seat. He looked at Derek as he backed the Camaro out of the parking spot.

Derek was wearing another henley that did very little to hide what he looked like without it—leaving Stiles to wonder if Derek owned any henleys that were solid. Though, Derek seemed to be more at home than in his jersey or letterman jacket.

“My mom’s back from her conference,” Derek started, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove them out of the parking lot.

Stiles wasn’t surprised when they hit the traffic jam at the exit, everyone vying for the next spot in line.

Derek leaned back in his seat, gently tapping the steering wheel in annoyance.

“Did she bring you anything?”

Derek scoffed, “Yeah, college pamphlets.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “I thought you were applying to all those football universities—like Ole Miss,” he softly uttered.

Derek released a harsh sighed. “Yeah, she doesn’t see that as an investment in my future.”

Stiles stared at Derek in confusion. “You have scholarships though,” he plainly uttered.

“Not for being a doctor or a lawyer,” Derek almost growled under his breath.

Stiles balked at Derek. “I’m sorry, your mom wants you to go pre-med or law?”

Derek shifted his weight, moving the Camaro barely an inch forward before tapping the brake. More car horns honked loudly, prompting Derek to put his arm out the window and flip off the car behind them.

Stiles turned and looked, smirking when he saw Jackson gesture rudely back at Derek from his Porsche. He settled back into his seat, rubbing his hands over his knees as he tried to wipe the sweat off. “Does that mean you’re going to try going close to home—in state?”

Derek was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, like I could make a team like USC.”

“Why not?” Stiles countered.

Derek looked at Stiles. “The scout didn’t bother to talk to me, that’s why.”

Stiles frowned at that.

“I’m resigned to being whatever my mother wants to pay for me to do,” Derek uttered, staring down at the steering wheel as he picked at the leather seams. “Unless I hear back from those schools about scholarships, I’m going to end up being the shittiest doctor in the world.”

“You’d have a heart,” Stiles countered. “Great bedside manners. And I’m sure many patients would love to wake up from a coma and see a model standing over them.” He lightly laughed along with Derek.

Derek was quiet for a second before looking back at Stiles.

“I’m sure you’re going to get so many scholarships, you won’t know what to do with them, or which one you’ll want to accept,” Stiles concluded with a hopeful smile.

Derek hesitated for a moment before asking, “Did you finish your applications?”

Stiles nodded. “Applied early to Beacon,” he confirmed.

“You’re staying around here,” Derek faintly mumbled to himself. “Why not Berkeley?”

Stiles laughed, hoping it hid his insecurities. He didn’t have to heart to tell anyone that he applied to Berkeley and Stanford the moment they had reached out. He wanted Berkeley more than anything, wanting to follow his mom. He loved and hated that Derek remembered that.

“It’s not funny,” Derek countered, a tick in his eyebrow showing that he was a bit annoyed with Stiles’ response to his inquiry.

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not smart enough.”

“Stiles,” Derek curtly started. “You’re salutatorian.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Stiles quickly spoke, an attempt to stop Derek. He gestured in front of them, to where the other cars had started to file out the exit.

Derek resigned to driving the Camaro forward, a silence falling between them.

Stiles dug his fingernails into his palm, ignoring the tears in his eyes.

Derek reached out to place his hand over Stiles’ enclosed fist, a gentle gesture to ease Stiles’ strained knuckles. “You are smart enough,” he firmly stated.

Stiles wiped a tear away with his free hand. “I … I did apply, I just haven’t … I probably won’t hear back—they’re super selective and legacy applications aren’t a guaranteed spot.”

Derek tightened his hold on Stiles’ hand, easing Stiles’ grip until his hand was loosely resting on his thigh. He thread their fingers together. “Any place would be lucky to have you as a future alum,” he offered.

Stiles brushed his thumb over Derek’s pinky, wishing he had the courage to know if he could press a kiss to Derek’s knuckles—would that be a welcomed affection. But friends didn’t do that. “You too,” he settled with echoing Derek’s affirmation.

~*~

Stiles: Scott wants you to go bowling with everyone Friday night

Derek: Ew

Stiles smiled at his phone, ignoring the book that was laying open on his stomach. He’d ignore his own magnum opus if it meant talking to Derek.

Stiles: As a heads up, Jackson will be there

Derek: Jackson comes with his own warning label

Stiles: He’ll be quiet if your grumpy eyebrows are there. Unless you’re busy.

Stiles stared up at his ceiling. He never got up the nerve to ask what Jen wanted from Derek. He felt a ball of jealousy curl up in his stomach as he thought about Derek going on a date with someone else—let alone a cheerleader. He picked up his phone when it vibrated.

Derek: Are we still on for Saturday fright fest?

Stiles: I thought so

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat before adding an additional reply.

Stiles: Trying to cancel because of a hot date?

Derek: Are you calling yourself hot? ;)

Stiles bit his bottom lip, fingers hovering over his phone’s keyboard. Derek always used a winking emoji—it was a joke, don’t embarrass yourself.

Stiles: Smokin

Derek: Then yeah, super hot date. You know I don’t watch Freddy with anyone else

Stiles: Well, that doesn’t answer my question about Friday

Derek: You didn’t ask a question about Friday

Stiles sighed, scrolling back up the chat to see that Derek was correct.

A new text message pinged, Scott’s name popping up for Stiles to see.

Scott: Dude! Derek said he wants to go bowling Friday. I knew you’d come through

Stiles’ brow furrowed. Another message from Derek came in before Stiles could answer Scott.

Derek: I’ll pick you up at 6 on Friday

Stiles: You didn’t even let me finish. I was in the middle of pitching

Derek: Promise?

Stiles stared at the message, suddenly moving to sit up. His book slid off his stomach, falling off his bed with a soft thump against the carpet. He stared at his phone. He read his messages again, realizing the sexual innuendo his words could be. But Derek’s … if it was anyone other than Derek, Stiles would be certain that was a flirtation.

Derek: Your pitch sucks if this is it

Stiles scrambled to write back.

Stiles: I never said I’d go bowling with you

Derek: :(

Stiles: You’re buying me curly fries on the way

Derek: Always

Stiles refused to admit that his heart was fluttering at the prospect of Derek buying him curly fries.

~*~

“Where are you going?” The Sheriff asked when he walked by the open door of Stiles’ room, only to pause his departure when he saw the clothes strewn across the floor.

Stiles turned from the mirror, looking at his dad. “Uh, bowling.”

John narrowed his eyes briefly. He crossed his arms before leaning against the doorframe. “Do you have a date?”

Stiles could feel the blush rushing up his chest. “No, of course not.”

John arched his eyebrow at Stiles.

Stiles tried—and failed—not to fidget. “It’s a group thing.”

John slowly nodded. “You’re not in a graphic tee and plaid.”

Stiles looked down at himself. He was wearing an ill fitting henley, one that Melissa had gotten him a few Christmases ago, and Derek had said he liked. The henley was mostly ill fitting because Derek would wear it when borrowing clothes, his muscle bulk barely contained despite his shoulder width being nearly identical to Stiles’ own.

John sighed, nodding his head again. “If you want to date, you can, kiddo,” he finally stated. “Just because you broke up with Heather doesn’t mean it is too soon to go on a date.”

Stiles was quiet, staring at his dad. “You don’t date.” He almost wished he pulled it back before he even thought of saying the words.

John’s smile was melancholy. “I haven’t taken off the ring, Stiles,” he countered, subconsciously ducking his hand beneath his bicep, keeping the ring hidden and close to his heart. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about moving on. But everyone is different.”

“I didn’t mean—” Stiles released a frustrated sigh, marching over to his bed and plopping down on it. “I didn’t mean that, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“I know what you meant by it, Stiles,” John calmly answered. He walked over to Stiles’ bed, taking a seat next to his son. “Whether you want to date in a day, or a year, or never again—that’s your prerogative.”

Stiles pulled at the sleeves of the henley, pulling on the cuff as he tried to hide his hands away like he did when he was a kid.

“Is there …” John stopped, hesitating before pressing on, “Is there someone you like?”

Stiles was surprised how calm he felt. He could tell his dad right now, and figure out what could change. His dad loved him—he knew that. He was afraid of what his dad would face. He wondered if he’d lose the next election for Sheriff if it got out. Their town wasn’t as bad as most, but hostile conservative fringes remained in Beacon thanks to Gerard Argent’s term as mayor.

“Maybe,” Stiles offered instead of a definite answer.

John faintly smiled. “Well, they’d be lucky to date you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes as his dad stood up.

“Just remember that your curfew is 11,” John stated once he reached the doorway.

“Um, can I break it tomorrow?” Stiles quickly asked, hoping he’d be able to get away with it.

John stopped, turning to look at Stiles over his shoulder. “Now, that’s suspicious.”

“Hey, you pointed out the fright fest to me,” Stiles countered as he stood up. “The  _ Nightmare on Elm Street _ marathon is tomorrow night.”

John looked at Stiles expectantly.

“Derek and I are going,” Stiles reasoned. “You know Derek doesn’t break rules.”

“Except when he drinks,” John knowingly replied.

“Everyone drinks at Beacon High, dad,” Stiles sighed. He looked up at his dad. “He’s never broken the law.”

“Underage drinking is breaking a law, Stiles,” John replied, unable to completely hide his faint laughter.

“He doesn’t do that anymore,” Stiles sternly stated. He didn’t want his dad thinking bad things about Derek.

John conceded to Stiles’ argument. “When does the marathon end?”

Stiles pursed his lips some. “6am.”

John barked out a laugh, “Nice try, kiddo.”

“Can we at least stay until midnight to see the end of the third one?” Stiles pressed.

John looked swayed. “Fine,” he agreed, acting as if he wasn’t going to agree the whole time. “We’ll compromise,” he began, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can stay until the end of the third one, and then come back here and watch the rest—at home.”

Stiles felt his smile grow. “Thanks, dad.”

“Oh, don’t really thank me,” John stated. “Parrish and I are stopping by the marathon to make sure no one gets out of hand.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue. Having his father and deputy stop by the drive-ins during a horror film marathon was not Stiles’ idea of a fun night.

“It’s at the mayor’s request,” John quickly stated before Stiles could accuse him of being a helicopter parent. “Poor Al had to fight to be approved to host the marathon, Argent’s board pushed it well past Halloween.”

Stiles grimaced thinking about Gerard and the board he tried to create in order to censor everything in the town. “That’s so dumb.”

A knock on the door downstairs startled Stiles to look at the clock.

5:58.  _ Derek _ . He was early—always early.

“Someone is picking you up?” John asked.

Stiles blinked back at his dad. “Derek,” he softly stated.

John tilted his head slightly, a look of peculiar wonderment gracing his features.

_ He knows. _

Anxiety slowly built in Stiles’ stomach.

“Don’t let Derek be on your team,” John said instead. “Boy can throw a football, he can’t bowl for shit,” he declared as he headed downstairs.

~*~

Stiles faintly smiled as he marked down Derek’s strike, laughing at Jackson’s indignation.

“You can keep score next time,” Jackson said to Derek.

Derek smiled as he took his seat. “I’m a natural.”

“You’ve been a good bowler since we were twelve,” Stiles remarked as he turned to look at Derek. He hadn’t realized Derek sat directly behind him.

Derek shrugged when Jackson balked.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“I said I wasn’t as fond of bowling as I am of other things. That did not mean I’m bad at it,” Derek countered as he looked at Jackson.

Lydia shook her head as she moved up to take her turn.

Stiles turned back in his seat, ready to take score. Derek was always good at bowling, he just didn’t bother aiming whenever he played a game with the Stilinskis, usually resulting in the Sheriff winning.

Derek leaned against the side of Stiles’ seat, hovering over Stiles’ shoulder as he spoke. “I’m going to grab a drink, do you want something?”

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, jerking back a bit when his face almost hit Derek’s. There were only a few inches between their faces. He swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring the way his heart sped up as he turned back to look at his scorekeeping. “Sure,” he muttered.

Derek nodded as he got up to change out his shoes.

Stiles tapped the pencil against the score sheet, hoping his blush wasn’t reddening the longer he sat in silence. He watched Lydia take her second roll, nearly spaced out. He realized too late that he never told Derek what he wanted.

Stiles marked down Lydia’s score, ignoring the heat he felt rising from his neck. He was embarrassed thinking he might get caught.

Everyone continued to take their turn when they ended up back at Derek’s turn.

Stiles looked around for Derek, unable to see him. He figured he must still be in line downstairs at the concession stand. He offered to find Derek as the others took bathroom breaks. He wandered downstairs, idly looking about. He must have turned wrong, finding the arcade instead of the concession stand.

He also found one of the last people he wanted to see instead of Derek.

Heather.

She was hanging out with a group of others who seemed to be ringed around a group of machines. She was standing with a few others just as Jen rejoined them.

Stiles pressed his body up behind the corner of the wall he just rounded, trying to make himself look smaller in an attempt to not be noticed should anyone draw closer to his position. He could hear them talking over the sounds of the arcade games.

“She said Derek paid,” Jen commented.

Heather scoffed. “Of course he did,” she bitterly uttered. “But come on, do you think it is a date?”

“Derek didn’t say,” Jen sounded annoyed, as if she answered this question before.

“I can not be known as the girl who dumped Stiles Stilinski, only to be replaced by Derek Hale.”

Stiles felt like his heart was lodged in his throat.

“You honestly think Derek is gay?”

“I think someone as attractive as Derek Hale swings both ways,” Heather stated as a matter of fact. “Stiles on the other hand—” a laugh as if she was remembering something, “total sausage fest.”

Stiles pushed away from the wall, fleeing back to where he came from. He hated that he didn’t know the layout of the bowling alley, finding himself turned around more than before. He was equally relieved and terrified when he turned around to see Derek.

“Did I really take that long?” Derek stated with a smile. He had two sodas in his hands, lifting them up as if to explain why he took longer than he thought. “I swear, everyone thought Friday night was bowling night.”

Stiles got up next to him. “Yeah, you took a while,” he stated, looking over his shoulder in fear that Jen and Heather would be coming this way.

“You seem paranoid,” Derek stated, looking at where Stiles was staring.

“I just saw Jen and Heather,” Stiles admitted. He immediately regretted it, remembering that he never found out why Jen had been talking to Derek on Monday.

“In that case, let’s book it upstairs,” Derek commented. “Jen’s that cheerleader friend of Heather’s right?”

Stiles nodded frantically as he walked with Derek, taking his soda from him. He didn’t blink when Derek took it back and handed him the other drink.

“She was asking me weird questions the other day—like if I have a date for prom and stuff,” Derek shook his head. “Who thinks about prom now?”

“Heather had her dress picked out,” Stiles answered.

“Jeez,” Derek grimaced. “I guess some people like certain things.”

Stiles was relieved when they made it back to the others without running into anyone else. He unsuccessfully tried to ignore what Heather said, thinking about all the times that Derek did seem to pay for things. He looked down at his soda as Derek got into his seat and started to change into his bowling shoes. “How much do I owe you?”

Derek looked up at Stiles, a quizzical smile on his lips. “Nothing,” he shrugged.

“Derek—”

“It’s a soda, Stiles,” Derek nonchalantly remarked. “You can buy me one next time if you want.”

Stiles picked at his straw, his stomach souring suddenly.

~*~

Stiles clicked off the seat warmer, his hand immediately folding back in his lap. He looked out the window, gently nibbling his bottom lip. It was bugging him until they bowled their last set, knowing he couldn’t say anything in front of the others. “You didn’t have to pay for me,” he stated, finally looking at Derek.

Derek briefly glanced over at Stiles, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “I know,” he offered, sounding a bit confused by Stiles’ words.

“I just … you always pay,” Stiles explained. He looked down at his knees, digging his fingers into the upholstery of his seat.

Derek was quiet for a second as he repositioned his hands on the steering wheel. “I didn’t really think about it.”

“I was just trying to sort it out, and I can’t think of the last time I paid for something when we’ve been hanging out,” Stiles confessed. He had spent the better part of their departure from the bowling alley and the beginning of their ride thinking about how Derek seemed to somehow pay for everything. The only times Stiles can even think about his wallet being light is when he went out with Scott or when he decided to shop late at night and impulse buy.

“I guess I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Derek uttered, his voice edged with clippedness.

“How can you not?” Stiles countered.

“I get it, I’ll start not paying for stuff,” Derek curtly stated.

Stiles roughly sighed, “That’s not what I was saying.”

Derek suddenly pulled the Camaro over, putting the car into park suddenly on the side of the road. He left the engine running, the car’s headlights being the only thing illuminating the dark street. There was nothing but forest on either side of them, a type of bizarre happenstance when it came to Beacon Hills.

Stiles looked out his window before looking at Derek. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?” He had hoped it came out sounding as the joke he meant it to be.

Derek was quiet, staring down at the steering wheel.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hadn’t meant to upset Derek, he just wanted to know  _ why  _ Derek had seemed to be paying for everything they did.

“I didn’t realize it was a big deal for you. Is there something wrong with me paying?” Derek finally asked.

Stiles felt small in his seat, the silence weighing down on him the longer he took not answering Derek.

“I like paying for things,” Derek continued. “If it means I get to spend time with you, I don’t care what it costs.”

“I feel like a leech,” Stiles abruptly admitted, staring down at the door handle, wondering if he could get away with running out of the car and into the woods. He knew, realistically, it was a stupid idea, and that Derek could—and would—catch him.

“What?” Derek incredulously asked.

Stiles clenched his teeth. He felt a headache coming on. “I know I don’t have money like your family, and having one parent makes it a bit tougher, but I can afford to go out. You don’t have to buy—”

“Way to make me feel like I’m buying your friendship.”

“That’s my point!” Stiles finally looked at Derek. “Everyone has their own commentary on our friendship, and they think I’ve latched myself to you because I’m a leech. You live in such a perfect little bubble, Derek. Nobody at school would dare say a bad thing to your face.”

Derek’s features were neutral, but Stiles had spent his whole life learning to read him—he was pissed. Stiles just couldn’t tell who or what Derek was pissed at.

“You’re Derek fucking Hale, captain of the football team, most popular guy in school, and the future Prom King,” Stiles continued, though he wished his word vomit would cease when he thought he saw Derek flinch some. “And when we go out with our friends, everyone always asks what Stilinski the loser is doing with Derek Hale. What could I possibly be doing anywhere near you, let alone be treated to things by you.”

“You done?” Derek questioned, his voice tight.

Stiles released a half hearted growl as he sunk into his seat. He figured he’d put the nail in the coffin as he added, “We’re not dating, you don’t have to pay for me.”

Derek scoffed, turning his head to look out his window. “Yeah, no shit we’re not.”

Something broke in Stiles’ chest when he heard the harshness in Derek’s words. He felt sick. Maybe it was the fact that he only ate junk food, too afraid to eat actual food before Derek picked him up. Or, maybe it was his chest preparing to implode with heartbreak. “Yeah, so, can you please take me home,” he softly spoke, his voice cracking as he uttered the last words.

Derek granted Stiles’ request, pulling the Camaro back onto the road when he figured they weren’t going to talk about it more.

Stiles was ready to bolt from the car the second he saw the front door to his house. He unbuckled his seat belt, hand pulling on the door handle. “I’ll see you,” he mumbled as he basically fled.

~*~

_ The money I have … it’s not from my mom. It’s money my dad sends—for birthdays and Christmases … I don’t use it, just put it in the bank. He thinks he can make me forget what a fucking asshole he is with money. I don’t mind if I use it when we’re together. I don’t … I don’t pay for things because I don’t think you can, or because I want to buy your friendship… or that I own you because of it. _

_ I can’t bring myself to use it for anything else, Stiles—as dumb as that may sound. I’m sorry. _

Stiles drew in a deep breath as he stared down at his phone. He hadn’t been expecting to talk to Derek last night at 1am. He had listened to Derek work through it, tears rolling down his cheeks as he stared at the ceiling, feeling like an asshole for not just asking. He kept holding his breath, wishing he hadn’t run away from the car without looking at Derek.

He should have said something to him before they parted.

_ I didn’t know _ , Stiles had weakly spoken into his phone.  _ Derek, I’m sorry. It was … someone said something stupid, and my brain got away from me. _

And now, he didn’t want Derek to think he was canceling on him, his stomach dropping when his dad told him what happened. Drawing in a deep breath, he started typing out a text to Derek.

Stiles: Dad said Argent managed to get fright fest canceled

Derek: Of course. Not surprising

Stiles nibbled his bottom lip, wondering if he should ask if Derek wanted to come over. He was scared of Derek saying no.

Derek: Can you come over

Stiles stared at the text.

Derek: please. It’s important

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from answering immediately.

Stiles: okay. Now?

Derek: please

~*~

Stiles stared down at the breakfast table, his eyes taking in the envelopes lined up. He looked at Derek, watching him nervously pace. “It’s a good thing to hear back early, people say.”

“Why are they all small?” Derek questioned, stopping as he looked at Stiles. “Peter said he held onto them when they came yesterday and Thursday.”

“Why the fuck would he do that?” Stiles questioned in confusion.

“He said he didn’t want me to ruin Friday night,” Derek huffed, deflating into the stool in front of the breakfast table. He leaned his elbows against the countertop, staring down at them.

“Just because they are small envelopes, doesn’t mean they’re rejections,” Stiles started.

“If I don’t get into these—”

“Don’t,” Stiles firmly uttered, taking a step closer to Derek. He touched a gentle hand against Derek’s shoulder blade, his other hand grabbing the closest envelope. “Which one is your preferred school?”

Derek stared at the six envelopes, holding his breath as he tried to figure out which he would feel wrecked if he was rejected. “USC,” he finally stated.

Stiles reached out for USC, taking it in hand. He used both hands to examine the envelope. It wasn’t just one page, whatever was inside, which gave Stiles hope it was good news. But he wasn’t about to get Derek’s hopes up. “I can open it if you want,” he offered, looking at Derek. “Or, we can start with your least preferred and work our way up.”

Derek tightened his hands into fists, shaking his head. “Just open it.”

Stiles hesitated.

“Like a bandaid,” Derek commented. “You do it.” He closed his eyes as he waited for Stiles to finish.

Stiles grabbed the letter opener Derek had left on the table, using it to cut through the opening of the letter. He pulled the paper out, flipping the letter open to read it. He cleared his throat as he started, “ _ Dear Derek, On behalf of the faculty and staff of the University of Southern California, it is with great pleasure that I inform you of your admission _ — _ ” _

Derek stood up abruptly, plastering his body against Stiles’ as he reached for the letter.

“You got in,” Stiles lightly laughed, his voice joyful as he watched Derek’s eyes dashing across the letter.

“I got a scholarship,” Derek mumbled when he saw the next page.

“Hey,” Stiles softly said his name, touching Derek’s cheek before hesitantly pulling away. He smiled when Derek looked at him. “You got in,” he stated again, hoping it sunk in.

Derek released a breath he was holding, reaching to pull Stiles into an embrace.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders, letting Derek hold him tightly. He faintly laughed when Derek lifted him, spinning them slightly.

“Did someone propose?” Peter’s voice interrupted the moment.

Stiles pulled away from Derek when his feet touched the ground again, glancing away from Peter briefly.

“I got in to USC,” Derek explained, lifting up the letter for Peter to see. “A scholarship too.”

“You know you don’t need one,” Peter uttered.

Stiles looked up at Peter, his retort halting when he saw the older man leaning against the doorframe.

Peter was wearing a cashmere sweater, one that was arguably a bit bigger on him than his typical wardrobe style would suggest he’d ever consider owning an item like it. He had the sleeves pulled down to cover his hands, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the two teenagers. He looked exhausted, as if he had lost sleep the past few days, sunken eyes standing out against his unusually pale complexion.

If Stiles didn’t know better, he would have guessed Peter had been crying. Maybe not recently, but the remnants of puffy eyes and paleness did nothing to dissuade Stiles’ assumption completely that Peter Hale had not been crying last night.

“I don’t want that piece of shit paying for anything,” Derek firmly stated in reference to his father.

Peter lightly laughed. “Sound like your mother,” he added, pushing himself off the door frame as he walked over to Derek. “Make him pay for all those expensive textbooks you have no intention of keeping,” he faintly smirked. He pulled his nephew into a congratulatory hug. “Proud of you,” he softly stated, releasing Derek. He took the acceptance letter from Derek, looking it over. “Your mother is going to buy an entire restaurant menu when you tell her.”

Derek grimaced.

Stiles faintly laughed.

“You should stay, Stiles,” Peter commented. “There will be enough leftovers for a while.” He placed the letter on the table, gesturing his head to the unopened ones. “You should check them—just for self-esteem, if nothing else.”

Stiles watched Peter walk over to the fridge as Derek turned his attention towards the letters. He frowned at seeing Peter’s sluggish movements, knowing something was off with the older man. “Are you … ”

Peter looked at Stiles as he filled his water bottle from the fridge’s filter. He arched his eyebrow at Stiles.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, unsure what he expected Peter to say.

Peter stared at Stiles for a moment before looking back at his water bottle. “Yeah,” he stated, though he didn’t sound completely convinced.

Before Stiles could ask anything else, Peter left the kitchen.

“What happened to Peter?” Stiles finally asked Derek.

Derek looked back at him, sighing some. “He was dating someone,” he offered with a shoulder shrug. “My mom was making kind of a big deal about it—the whole ‘meet the family’ thing, you know?”

Stiles nodded as he sat next to Derek. He didn’t like how Derek used past tense.

“I guess the mystery guy was supposed to be coming to dinner next week,” Derek continued. “Peter even talked to my mom about moving out. I guess Peter thought it was pretty serious, but … the other guy didn’t feel the same way.”

Stiles’ stomach dropped. “Was it … ”

Derek looked at Stiles, his brow furrowed.

Stiles shook his head. If Peter didn’t say who the guy was, it wasn’t his place to suggest it could have been Chris Argent. “That sucks,” he said instead.

Derek nodded. “They got in a huge fight Thursday night, and my mom got in between it.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. He loved Talia Hale for her ferocity when defending her family, and he couldn’t help imagining her stepping up to defend her little brother from heartbreak.

“It was just a phone call, but Peter broke his phone—mom is at the store right now getting another one,” Derek finally stated. “Although, I wouldn’t be shocked if she ended up finding out who it was and went to confront him.”

Stiles frowned. “As badass as that’d be, I don’t think Peter would end up appreciating that at the moment.”

Derek nodded. “Peter’s had boyfriends and girlfriends before,” he explained. “And mom always supported him, even when my grandparents didn’t.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen him considering moving in with someone. For it to be that serious for Peter … ” He ran his hand through his hair. “I hate that he got his heart broken.”

“Sometimes people fall in love with people who don’t love them back,” Stiles suddenly stated. He hadn’t meant to be so open about it, scaring himself some. “It matters how we handle it, I guess.”

Derek was abnormally quiet. “Are you going to stay for dinner?”

Stiles drew in an even breath, noticing that Derek was changing the subject now. He felt a bit selfish, letting it go. “Sure.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your patience and your encouraging comments. You all always show me such love whenever I post, and I'm very lucky to have you all as my motivation to keep going.
> 
> Here it is: the last "official" chapter in their high school career. The fifth chapter will be more of an epilogue. I'm going back and forth on what to include, but I think I'm going to do later on in their life, with flashbacks to college. I'm not sure at the moment. Again, I appreciate hearing what you think, and if you have any hopes for what to see in the next chapter I'll try and consider/include them as best I can.
> 
> <3 Enjoy!

Derek laughed when Stiles stumbled, swaying some as he expertly managed to catch and steady Stiles. Even blindfolded, he was more graceful than Stiles. “You do know I know I’m in my backyard.”

“And you’re blindfolded so you can’t see what is in your backyard,” Stiles countered, looking down at the ground and behind him as he avoided any more bumps. “Hold on,” he started, his breath catching when Derek walked right into him, his warmth embracing Stiles.

Derek smiled once more, his hand reaching around Stiles to rest on his neck. His hand fumbled for a brief moment, unsure where exactly Stiles’ neck was until his fingers brushed along the hair at the nape of Stiles’ neck. His hand was a warm weight against Stiles’ neck, anchoring them together. “You know you didn’t have to do all this,” he softly stated, turning his head towards where he knew Stiles was now. He hadn’t bothered to pull back from Stiles.

“I know,” Stiles defiantly uttered, despite the blush burning his cheeks. “Besides, you don’t even know what it is yet, you might hate it.”

Derek fondly chuckled. “It’s from you, so I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Stiles hesitated, eyes studying Derek’s face for the brief moment they had.

The tips of Derek’s ears were suddenly turning red, and Stiles couldn’t place why. It wasn’t the cold—Derek ran hotter than anyone Stiles knew, practically a furnace of body heat.

They lived in California, so the winters weren’t harsh like other states blessed with snow but ravaged by frost.

Was it embarrassment?

Stiles hesitated before reaching up to untie Derek’s blindfold, his fingers shaking as he undid the knot. He was so close to Derek’s face, their lips close enough that if one lost their balance, a kiss wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility. Part of Stiles wished he had the right to want that. He let his arms fall away, looking up at Derek as he blinked rapidly.

Derek looked at Stiles, a smile on his lips. “Are you my gift?”

Stiles’ heart skipped. “Like you could afford to keep me,” he forcefully uttered with a laugh. He was thankful Derek seemed distracted by the Jeep being parked in the backyard.

Derek walked over to Stiles’ vehicle, coming to a stop as he inspected it. He smiled at the hanging lights in the vehicle, noticing the blankets. He half turned back to Stiles. “Camping?”

“Close,” Stiles softly sighed before gesturing over at the house.

There was a large white canvas hanging from the side of the Hale house, and a small projector between the Jeep and house.

Derek smiled widely at the set up.

“I thought, since Fright Fest was canceled, we could have our own,” Stiles explained. “Of course, it comes with bonafide, uninterrupted, Stiles times,” he jokingly stated despite the roiling waves in his stomach.

Derek reached his hand out for Stiles. He was quick and graceful in his movements as he grabbed Stiles by the wrist, guiding him to come close. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, pressing his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck.

“Do you like it?” Stiles’ question was muffled against Derek’s shoulder, his hands resting low on Derek’s ribs.

“The best gift,” Derek sincerely answered.

“Good, because Peter was insufferable when I asked him to help me hang the screen,” Stiles half-heartedly uttered, smiling when Derek laughed.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he expected—they had gone to the drive-ins plenty of times, preferring it to the movie theater in the Heights because they could add their own commentary to the movies without being shushed. He didn’t expect Derek to lay so close to him in the back of the Jeep. He was warm under the blanket Talia had given him, just in case it got too cold for them. He had the blanket draped over himself and Derek, unsure when their shoulders started touching. He wrapped his arm around the pillow in front of him, trying to focus on anything but the firm lines and warmth of Derek’s body pressed against his.

Stiles loved horror movies—though he could admit that he didn’t watch them as often as he liked. He knew Derek loved Wes Craven, and had seen his films dozens of times. But he didn’t remember the second  _ Nightmare on Elm Street _ being as … homoerotic.

Was he reading into it? Was it just the way he had suddenly become hyper aware of his body in proximity to Derek’s?

“I didn’t ...” Stiles stopped, brow furrowed. “I don’t think I realized how gay coded this is.”

Derek turned his head to look at Stiles. “People say it’s the gayest horror film ever made,” he simply uttered.

Stiles dared to look at Derek. “So I didn’t imagine that he went to a gay club—good to know.”

Derek laughed. “Nah, definitely not.”

Stiles flinched as he watched Grady, Jesse’s friend and obvious crush, get murdered by Freddy. He looked away briefly. “I don’t like that part,” he quietly uttered.

“Me neither,” Derek echoed, his eyes still on the screen. “A fucking shit message to send gay teens,” he added, his tone bitter with annoyance.

Stiles looked at Derek, about to say something when a hand slammed against the side of the Jeep. He screamed instead, lurching away from the window and straight back into Derek. He shoved himself right up against Derek’s chest, scrambling to get away from whatever made that loud noise as Derek’s arms hauled him in close.

Peter finally leaned into view, a grin plastered on his face.

“Fucking asshole,” Derek cursed at Peter, though his hold on Stiles didn’t loosen now that he knew the threat was a harmless prank.

Peter laughed, placing his hands up in a placating manner. “I couldn’t resist.”

Stiles reached for his phone, pausing the movie.

Peter wrinkled his nose at the screen when he saw it was one of their horror films.

Stiles looked at Peter, about to ask him where he even came from when he saw that Peter was wearing a tux and remembered what Talia said before leaving the house.

The Mayor’s annual charity gala was tonight.

As the head of multiple boards at Beacon’s one Hospital, and the top surgeon, Talia was requested to attend more than one charity event that benefited the hospital and made Beacon’s politicians look good. Peter got dragged into it as Talia’s date more than once.

“Bored with all the rich people, you thought you’d come home and scare us?” Derek demanded.

Peter shrugged his shoulder. “I made them uncomfortable so it was worth it.”

Stiles remembered how unusually quiet Peter was when leaving for the event. He was glad to see him back to his usual sass.

“Did Ms. Maybell bid on you this year?” Derek asked when Peter didn’t mention it.

Peter laughed, though more hollowly than usual.

Every year, the gala had an auction off of dances for the evening. And Peter was the grand prize each year—laying claim that more than one marriage had been ended thanks to his bid.

And Ms. Maybell adored Peter, and won the bid for the last four years.

“Maybell was outbid,” Peter simply stated, looking down at his shoes.

Stiles quizzically looked at Derek. “I’m sorry,” he turned to look at Peter, incredulously continuing, “but the woman who almost married the ruler of Spain, who is also independently wealthy beyond belief thanks to her smart investments, and known to flip Gerard Argent supporters off, was outbid by someone?”

Peter ran a hand through his hair. He wanted a smoke, but suddenly remembered he dropped it back at the Mayor’s residence, losing it in his rush to leave the gala. He had undone his tie a long time ago, his jacket tightly gripped in his free hand. He was agitated now as the two teenagers stared at him expectantly for an answer.

“Sometimes things happen, that utterly shock you,” Peter stated, his gaze growing distant for a moment as he thought about the dance. He had been angry, knowing he goaded him into doing it— no; no one goaded Christopher Argent into doing anything.

Least of all Peter Hale goading him into humiliating Gerard Argent by dancing with another man.

Humiliation—that was what Gerard called it.

Peter, on the other hand, had been ecstatic.

Derek narrowed his eyes at Peter.

“Who won?” Stiles asked, unwilling to let this go.

Peter looked at Stiles, his eyes flickering between the two boys. “Prince Charming,” he deadpanned as he started to walk back to the house. He waved his hand at the two of them in parting.

Stiles sunk down into the car, his heartbeat finally slowing now that he knew they were out of danger. “Your uncle is weird.”

“I think he’s in love,” Derek commented, his eyes watching Peter enter the house.

Stiles paused, sneaking a glance at Derek.

“I hope he is,” Derek added as an afterthought.

“Me too,” Stiles softly echoed Derek’s sentiment.

~*~

Stiles smiled up at the corkboard by the guidance office. He didn’t really care about the idea of advertising where he got into, but he felt proud when he saw Derek’s name listed among the others. He barely moved when someone took his newly printed class schedule out of his hands, turning to look at Derek.

Derek was inspecting Stiles’ schedule as he moved to lean against the industrial sized corkboard. He appeared to have no care in the world besides memorizing Stiles’ class schedule. He suddenly perked up when he got to the last class. “We have Shakespeare together,” he confirmed, looking up at Stiles with a smile.

Stiles’ stomach dipped. “You’re lying,” he stated in disbelief.

Derek laughed as he offered the schedule back out to Stiles. “I guess we had to have a class together eventually.”

“It’s weird that we never did,” Stiles answered, taking the schedule back. He looked down at it, inspecting his classes once more. He had hoped, for some reason, he’d be in more classes with him.

“You’re in all the smart classes,” Derek answered. “Shakespeare might be fun, but you’re going to have to explain some of it.”

Stiles shook his head out of fondness. He could admit that he was looking forward to having a class with Derek, knowing that he’d be able to spend even more time with him. Any group projects would be a breeze, knowing he wouldn’t have to worry about Derek not pulling his weight.

Winter break was over, and senior melancholy was setting in for Stiles. He was nervous about graduation, everyone starting to take things a bit more serious now. He was thankful that he didn’t have to go to any parties, able to keep Derek to himself for the little time they had left.

He could manage the next few months without letting his crush get in the way. He had been dealing with it before he even realized it was a thing—he could manage the last few months on a conscious level.

Things seemed nice.

Derek looked up at the corkboard he was leaning against, craning his head to the side in order to read what it was. He seemed surprised to see his name on it.

Stiles nibbled his lip when he saw that Derek was scanning it for someone else.

“Did you hear from Berkeley?” Derek asked as he turned to look at Stiles finally.

Stiles was quiet for a moment before shaking his head. “Nothing.”

Derek folded his own class schedule, tucking it back into his folder before looking up at Stiles. “You will though,” he confidently stated.

Stiles faintly smiled. “For better or worse.”

Derek smiled as he walked forward, putting his arm around Stiles’ shoulders as he steered them down the hall towards homeroom.

“What if I don’t get in?” Stiles suddenly asked.

Derek was quiet for a beat, before offering, “You could come with me to USC.”

Stiles probably would have stopped walking if it wasn’t for the weight of Derek’s arm on his shoulders.

“You’re smart enough, they’d probably pay you to go,” Derek partially chuckled.

“You wouldn’t mind me following you around?” Stiles asked, determined not to look at Derek.

“USC is a large campus, Stiles,” Derek offered, his arm slipping from Stiles’ shoulders when they reached Stiles’ locker. “Besides, it’d be nice.”

Stiles faintly nodded. “Yeah,” he weakly admitted, embarrassed that he didn’t have the courage to admit it might crush him to stand on the sidelines and watch Derek become popular all over again.

“Hey,” Derek began with a playful laugh. “We could be roommates.”

Stiles forced a convincing smile despite the dread that consumed him.

Sharing a bedroom, where Derek would be dressing—and undressing—and maybe bringing one night stands—or worse, dates—back to, all while Stiles pined in agony, holed away in the library.

The floor completely swallowed Stiles up at that invasive and onrunning thought.

~*~

By some amazing happenstance, Derek managed to have the same lunch break as Stiles. The last time they shared a lunch together was sophomore year. But things were different—the football team wasn’t making an asinine attempt to get Derek to sit with them.

Stiles didn’t look up from his lunchbox when Derek plopped down next to him.

Derek dramatically sighed, leaning against the table.

Stiles faintly smiled before looking at Derek.

Derek was straddling the bench, his body angled towards Stiles’ as he rested his head in his propped hand. He turned his head slightly to the side as he watched Stiles, his expression softening some.

Stiles ignored the uptick of his heart. “How was physics?”

Derek blanched, rolling his eyes. “Harris is a dick. You’d think they’d let someone else run Ms. Haggerty’s class while she’s on maternity leave.”

“He’s always wanted to be the physics teacher,” Lydia commented from the other side of the table.

“And now, I’ve had to survive Harris twice in my high school career,” Derek uttered in annoyance.

“As long as you get above a C, you’re golden,” Allison offered with a faint smile of reassurance.

“But scarred,” Derek muttered.

Stiles faintly laughed. “You’re so dramatic,” he commented with a smile. He handed over the extra soda he packed away for Derek.

Derek smiled as he took the soda.

“Packing your husband lunch?” Jackson crudely asked as he took the seat next to Lydia.

“Jackson,” Lydia stressed the consonants of his name, as if she wanted to call him something else.

Derek turned his head to look at Jackson, gracefully lifting his hand that wasn’t holding the soda. He extended his middle finger to Jackson, his gesture more friendly than the annoyed look on his face. “You’re jealous.”

Stiles ignored them.

“Come on, Stilinski, it’s a joke,” Jackson finally uttered.

Stiles looked up at Jackson. “Get a better sense of humor,” he snapped at him.

Derek looked at Stiles, tapping his nail against the soda can tab.

“Oh, come on—”

“Would you say something like that to anyone else?” Stiles angrily demanded. His stomach was twisting up in knots.

“Jesus, learn to—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Derek finally stated. He tore his eyes away from Stiles to look at Jackson. “I’m guessing this isn’t the first time.”

Stiles zipped up his lunchbox, standing abruptly. “It’s fine— whatever.” He hurriedly untangled himself from the bench, basically fleeing the cafeteria in a need to get away from everyone.

“Stiles,” Derek called his name once they were both out in the hallway.

Stiles briefly thought about ignoring Derek, until he felt a familiar hand grapple his wrist. He stopped, turning to look at Derek’s hold on him—warm but gentle, with each passing second turning it hotter, into a brand. “It’s nothing.”

“Clearly it’s not nothing if you fled lunch and won’t look at me now.”

Stiles closed his eyes, drawing in a breath to calm himself before looking up at Derek.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked as he placed his hands against his hips.

Stiles opened his mouth before his words died on his tongue. He reluctantly shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Derek looked down at his boots, toeing at the cracked tile beneath his feet. “How long has that been happening?”

Stiles felt frozen, his mind numb of all thought. He gently shrugged his shoulders. “People are assholes.”

“Stiles,” Derek roughly spoke his name through a sigh. He turned to pace to the side, rubbing a hand over his beard in an absentminded manner.

“It’s nothing, Derek,” Stiles pressed again. “Jackson isn’t as bad as Theo.”

Derek stopped pacing. He turned to look at Stiles, his brow furrowed. “Theo.”

Stiles was nauseous. “You know how— some people just … they piggyback off of other people’s comments,” he struggled to brush it off. His heart was beating loudly in his ears.

Derek looked at Stiles like he had another head, confusion and bewilderment. “What the fuck, Stiles,” he softly spoke, no anger pointed at him.

Stiles tightened his grip on his lunchbox. “I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to know.”

Derek looked away from Stiles, looking floored.

“I didn’t mean— not that I can’t tell you things. I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“How is that bothering me?” Derek curtly asked. “Don’t you think I care if people are bullying you because of me? That it bothers me more that you thought you couldn’t say anything?”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s not because of you. They’re just—” he stopped abruptly. There wasn’t an excuse he could make up that would help explain it. He never thought it would have bothered Derek the way it seemed to. He didn’t want to admit that it hurt because everyone seemed to know he wanted to be more than friends with Derek.

Everyone except Derek.

“I don’t like anyone talking to you like that,” Derek finally stated. His hands were on his hips, a look of annoyance on his face as his glare attempted to bore a hole into the ground out of sheer spite.

“Nobody thinks—” Stiles stopped himself when Derek looked up at him. His heart loudly hammered in his chest. He could say it—he could tell Derek right now that everyone suspected he had a crush. But he was a coward. “I’ll tell you, alright?” He promised instead, his heartbeat evening out. “If someone says something shitty again, I’ll tell you. But that doesn’t mean you get to rush to my rescue.”

Derek faintly smiled, his beard darkening where his dimples creased his cheeks. “No promises, but I’ll try to refrain.”

Stiles didn’t argue, walking with Derek until they reached the outside bleachers. He was happier to be spending lunch alone with Derek, even with the butterflies in his stomach multiplying by the second.

~*~

The March carnival was elaborate, as far as carnivals went. It was an interesting distraction for everyone, as more college admission letters arrived and their graduation date approached.

Derek sat onto the picnic table beside Stiles, placing the order of curly fries between them. He dropped his jacket onto his thigh, balancing it there as he settled on straddling the bench.

Stiles took a clump of curly fries, slowly pulling them apart before munching on them. He side-eyed Derek, quirking his head when Derek didn’t take any of the fries.

Derek rolled his eyes fondly before taking some fries for himself.

Stiles turned to look at the noise Jackson was making from one of the carnival’s games. He faintly laughed as he watched Jackson throw his third and last ring at the glass jars only to see it fly off. He shook his head when Jackson called foul play.

“They’re carnival games, of course they are rigged,” Isaac commented from his spot perched on the fence next to them.

“It’s harder than it looks,” Jackson countered.

“I could only get the one jar up front,” Scott sighed.

“But my keychain is adorable,” Allison fondly uttered, placing a delicate kiss to Scott’s cheek.

“You basically have to aim to have the ring fall on the jar, not hook the neck,” Stiles commented, twisting his soda bottle in his fingers.

“Oh, you’re an expert Stilinski?”

“It’s physics,” Stiles deadpanned.

Derek snorted when Jackson glared in response.

“Then why don’t you give it a shot,” Jackson uttered.

“I suck at sports,” Stiles chose to argue instead of admitting the truth that he would definitely crumble under the pressure.

“I’ll do it,” Derek stated as he stood up, pulling his long legs out from the picnic table bench. He dumped his jacket beside Stiles.

Stiles looked up at Derek. “Don’t fall for Jackson’s taunting.”

Derek pulled his wallet out, slipping a bill from the folds before placing the wallet into his back pocket once more. He looked down at Stiles. “Maybe I just want to win you something,” he stated with a faint smirk as he walked towards the ring toss.

“I want the wolf,” Stiles jokingly called after him as he watched Derek talk with the worker.

The plush wolf was nearly big enough to warrant the length of Stiles’ arm around its neck. It hung up high above the other prizes, as if it was meant to be the bait of any foolish person trying to impress a date.

Derek would have to get a ring on the top two bottles, and he only had three.

In hindsight, Stiles shouldn't have been shocked when Derek got both bottles.

Stiles couldn't help his smile when Derek triumphantly walked back to the table, plopping the wolf onto the bench next to Stiles.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Jackson balked.

"He can throw a football across a field,” Boyd deadpanned.

Stiles looked up at Derek, faintly smiling as he pulled the stuffed animal closer. “Thanks,” he softly expressed his gratitude. He ignored the warmth pooling in his stomach when Derek sat beside him once more, this time closer than before.

Derek didn’t seem to care or notice that a few people were lingering in looking at them, maybe assuming they were staring at the prized stuffed animal in amazement. He patted his hand against the wolf’s head when he left to get a drink.

“You look happy,” Lydia commented from her spot sitting on the edge of the picnic table.

Stiles looked at her. He offered a small shrug of his shoulder. “What isn’t there to be happy about that Derek upstaged your obnoxious boyfriend.”

Lydia snorted, clearly not at all upset with Stiles’ accurate description of Jackson. “Happy that yours managed to get a prize.”

Stiles drew in a steady breath, his brow furrowing. He was about to say something when suddenly Derek was back beside him. He watched as Derek picked up his jacket, starting to stand when he saw how annoyed Derek looked. “What’s wrong?” He was panicking that maybe Derek heard them.

“I’m going to head out,” Derek explained, yanking his jacket on. He looked at Scott. “Can you give Stiles a ride?”

Stiles’ stomach sunk.

“Um, I mean, yeah?” Scott uttered in uncertainty.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked as he took a step towards Derek, blocking him from walking away.

Derek hesitated before looking at Stiles. “I’m going to head out before your father shows up to arrest me.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion. He shook his head as he looked down at their feet. “Why would my dad—” He stopped when he saw Derek’s hand.

At least one of Derek’s knuckles was split.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand, about to pull it up into his view.

Derek kept his hand down, holding onto Stiles’ hand. “I punched Theo,” he almost whispered, just for Stiles to hear.

Stiles didn’t say anything as he leaned and grabbed the stuffed animal. “I’m coming with you.”

“Stiles—”

“We’re going to head out,” Stiles said to the others.

Scott opened his mouth to question what happened before silencing himself when Stiles shook his head. “Okay,” he said instead. “See ya.”

Stiles grabbed Derek’s uninjured hand, pulling him alongside as they went towards the exit. He wasn’t sure if Derek agreed with him, but he was relieved that he had let him take the lead.

~*~

Derek was quiet as he drove towards Stiles’ house. He kept his injured hand resting on his thigh, ignoring the sharp throbbing pain. He hoped he wouldn’t have to let his mom take a look, knowing he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Is your knuckle actually split?” Stiles asked, breaking the silence between them as they remained stopped at a red light.

Derek dared to look down at his hand, turning it and closing his fist. “I’ll be fine. I didn’t injure my wrist or jam my fingers.”

Stiles was silent. “Are you going to tell me why you hit him?”

Derek’s uninjured hand tightened on the steering wheel. “He’s a fucking asshole.”

Stiles looked down at his hands, aimlessly picking at his pantleg as he tried to think of what Theo could have possibly said. “He’s always been a fucking asshole.”

Derek didn’t answer as the light turned green.

Stiles allowed them to share the silence until they arrived at his house. “Come inside, I’ll take a look at your hand.”

Derek didn’t move. “You don’t have to—”

“Derek,” Stiles softly said his name, a gentle patience in his voice as he looked at him for the first time since getting in the car. “Come inside so I can look at your hand.”

Derek wordlessly turned off his car, following Stiles’ instructions to come inside.

The quiet lingering between them was calm, unimposing as they silently went about arranging themselves in each other’s space. Derek sat at the Stilinski’s kitchen table, waiting for Stiles to come back with a first aid kit.

Stiles sat in the seat across from Derek, placing the first aid kit onto the table. He fumbled a few items before finally taking Derek’s hand. He gently cleaned Derek’s hand with the warm facecloth he brought from the bathroom. He cleaned the blood away, glad to see that Derek’s knuckle wasn’t mangled, the skin merely split from the impact.

“It should be fine.”

Stiles looked up at Derek. “I think it should be okay,” he concurred. “No stitches,” he added as he used a cut of clean gauze to cover Derek’s knuckle. He wrapped it with ease. “Are you going to tell me now?” He repeated his former question.

Derek turned his hand to take a hold of Stiles’, preventing him from letting go.

Stiles let his hand linger in Derek’s. He was too afraid to look up and see Derek’s face, focusing instead on the way Derek held his hand.

“Do I really have to say it?” Derek finally spoke.

Stiles clenched his eyes shut, wishing he could say he had no idea. “I’m sorry,” he softly spoke.

Derek’s hand still held Stiles’ and it made the walls closing in a bit more tolerable. “Why? You don’t have to be sorry for that, Stiles.”

Stiles started to shake his head. “I should have told you what he had said before,” he explained. “It was stupid— I thought he’d get tired off it and stop. I didn’t realize he’d say something to you.”

“Stiles,” Derek said his name with ease.

“I told you, everyone always says things. Theo just— he just knows.” Stiles released a near hysterical laugh. “I’m such a fucking coward. Lydia knows—there’s rumors, like always. And it feels like everyone knows but you.”

“Stiles,” Derek firmly said his name. “Could you please look at me?”

Stiles’ heart was lodged in his throat. He knew this was the moment it would all fall apart. Maybe he should have counted himself lucky to have had the time he did. He drew in an unsteady breath as he looked up at Derek.

Derek was looking at Stiles with nothing but gentle patience in his stare. “Everyone knows what?” He asked.

“Derek, don’t make me say it,” Stiles nearly begged.

“I punched Theo because he said you were acting like a frigid bitch since you wouldn’t put out.”

Stiles blinked a few times, his brain trying and failing to think of why that would come up in conversation.

“Stiles, I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” Derek explained. His hand dropped from Stiles’ as he continued, “I guess I wasn’t subtle, but I tried to pull back.”

Stiles was now staring at Derek in utter confusion. “What do you mean?”

Derek released a heavy breath. “Do you remember when we went to the drive-ins at the start of last summer?”

Stiles hesitated before nodding.

“I told you I had something to tell you,” Derek added, sneaking a small look at Stiles.

Stiles blinked, helplessly lost in what was happening.

“Instead of asking you, I told you to go first. Heather had asked you out.”

Stiles balked, missing part of what Derek was explaining. “Instead of asking me what?”

Derek ran his injured hand through his hair, barely wincing when the bandage tugged some. “I was going to ask you out. To try dating over the summer before senior year started.”

“That … that doesn’t make sense,” Stiles stated in disbelief.

“Stiles, I’ve liked you since middle school,” Derek stated in a near bitter tone.

“Liked … as in … more than a friend?” Stiles croaked.

Derek’s brow furrowed. “Haven’t you wondered why I never dated anyone?”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest before he realized that despite Derek constantly being asked out, he had never seen Derek with any of those people.

“I didn’t mean for people to treat you poorly because of it,” Derek explained. “And with Theo making that comment, I just … I snapped.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked as his walls all started to tumble down.

Derek liked him. He  _ liked  _ him.

“Maybe I was selfish and didn’t want you to think differently of me,” Derek stated.

Stiles shook his head, feeling the tears burn his eyes. “You have no idea—”

“Stiles, I never meant to upset you. I wasn’t trying to hurt you—” Derek released a harsh breath, forcing himself to stand. The kitchen chair teetered on its back legs, almost falling to the floor before settling. “I’ll go. I don’t— please don’t let this ruin our friendship.” He was lingering, waiting for Stiles to say something. He forced himself to turn, prepared to leave with Stiles’ silence as the only answer he needed to know he had fractured something.

“I’ve loved you since we were ten,” Stiles sobbed out, indescribable relief washing over him at finally saying it—at seeing Derek stop. He drew in a breath when Derek turned to look at back at him.

“Since you gave me the bottle cap,” Stiles continued to rush out all the things he tried to hide. Because Derek wasn’t hiding from him. “I knew when I kissed you, that was all I ever wanted.”

Derek quickly moved back down the hallway, each stride bringing him right back to Stiles.

Stiles stood, pushing out of his chair and meeting Derek part way. He felt safe and secure when Derek’s arms wrapped around him, his chest expanding with a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His eyes stung with tears as he wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders.

“I loved you for so long, Stiles,” Derek spoke against the curve of Stiles’ shoulder. “I thought you were happy with Heather— I never would have let you go if I knew. I would have asked you to be my boyfriend instead.”

Stiles dug his fingers into the sharp angles of Derek’s shoulder blades and back. He wished he knew he could have had that—he should have had Derek. He pulled back some, forcing them apart long enough to sneak the gentlest kiss against Derek’s lips. A brush of lips meeting in the corners. It was clumsy and unsure, amazed that he got to see Derek’s sweet smile before attempting for a second time.

His lips accepted the softness in Derek’s kiss, such uncertainty following even the most honest confession. He released a soft noise of contentment as he wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him in close. He could feel the slight tremble in Derek’s body despite how tightly he held Stiles against his chest.

Derek knew there were tears on both their cheeks as they shared another kiss, this time more coordinated. Harder, with more purpose and commitment.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you ask that,” Stiles shyly admitted, an unstoppable smile pulling at his lips.

Derek smiled back, pressing their foreheads together. “Stiles Stilinski, will you be my boyfriend?”

Stiles released a watery laugh. “Yes.”

“Will you go to prom with me?”

Stiles pulled back for a moment, looking at Derek in wonderment. He wasn’t sure what he expected, regardless that Derek Hale just asked him to be his boyfriend— _ after  _ kissing him in his kitchen. Maybe he had been scared it would be secret, something hidden and shamed. “You want to go to prom with me?” He spoke in wonderment.

“Not really a point in going without you there,” Derek answered.

“You want to date me in front of all of Beacon High?”

Derek shook his head. “No,” he countered, sneaking a soft but reassuring kiss before adding, “I want to date you in front of everyone. My family, yours, USC, Berkeley.” He smiled when he saw the way Stiles’ eyes lit up.

“I can’t believe you punched Theo Raeken for me,” Stiles suddenly stated.

Derek laughed, dipping his chin some as a light blush burned his cheeks. “It was a good idea at the time.”

Stiles cupped Derek’s face in his hands, looking at him with endearment. He leaned in to kiss Derek once more, a rush of excitement to know that he had a right to ask for kisses now—he had a right to hold Derek’s hand and look at him with love.

Because Derek Hale loved him back.

A throat cleared loudly, causing Stiles to squawk indignantly, stumbling and pulling Derek back with him.

Both teenagers stared at Sheriff Stilinski standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Dad,” Stiles softly uttered, his hands still firmly holding Derek by the shoulders now.

John looked from Stiles to Derek, then back to his son. “Eventful night at the carnival?”

Stiles looked at Derek. “Um, we wouldn’t know?”

John sighed. “I’m guessing Derek didn’t punch Theo Raeken at the concession stands then?”

Derek grimaced some.

“We were here?” Stiles quizzically stated.

“Good,” John remarked as he turned to go upstairs. “I have an early day tomorrow, keep things quiet.”

Stiles stared after his dad.

“Does he … did he just let me get away with punching Theo?” Derek quietly questioned.

“He’ll ask you what happened over breakfast,” Stiles replied.

“An interrogation, huh?” Derek’s face pinched at the thought.

“He already likes you, so you’re safe,” Stiles answered with a faint smile.

Derek nodded, looking from Stiles to the stairs. “He’s … letting me spend the night.”

Stiles thoughtfully looked at Derek. “I … think so.”

Derek looked at Stiles. “Where do you want me to sleep?”

Stiles hoped his blush wasn’t that intense. “Um, you can— there isn’t a reason you can’t sleep in my bed.”

Derek sweetly pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cheek. “I won’t defile you while your dad is home.”

Stiles flushed red, shoving Derek playfully to the side. “You can go sleep in the sandbox for all I care.” There was no heat in his words, more embarrassment that his mind was jumping to conclusions.

Derek smirked as he arched his eyebrow at Stiles.

Stiles rushed towards the steps, unable to hide all his laughter when Derek chased him.

~*~

“That easy, huh?” Lydia uttered when Derek finished explaining to her what happened Friday night.

Derek and Lydia were waiting in line at the prom’s ticket booth outside the cafeteria. Both were more than aware of the looks some people were giving them as they conversed to pass time. He told Lydia the truth about his and Stiles’ night confessions in the kitchen. He kept details of the weekend to himself though—those moments were for him and Stiles.

“Yeah,” Derek replied, unable to drop the smile on his face. “I mean, I did  _ allegedly  _ punch Theo in the face.”

Lydia snorted out a laugh. “A true hero,” she replied before walking up to the booth.

Derek didn’t answer her, thoughts of the weekend coming back to him in overwhelming waves. He had woken before Stiles on Saturday morning, smiling to himself as he pulled Stiles even closer, holding Stiles against his chest as he nosed along the nape of Stiles’ neck. He caressed his hand over Stiles’ side, ignoring the pins and needles prickling through his nerves from where Stiles’ head rested on his bicep. He’d gladly give his arm if it meant he got to stay in bed a little longer with Stiles. He softly grunted when Stiles pressed back into his, Stiles’ ass slotting in to fit just too perfectly against Derek’s crotch. He hadn’t realized Stiles was awake until he shifted his hips all too expertly to be an accident.

_ I can’t believe Derek Hale is in my bed. _

_ I’ve been in your bed before. _

_ Different this time. _

_ Hm, I don’t want to leave either. _

_ You never want to… and you don’t have to. _

“Hey,” the other girl behind the table greeted Derek, a welcoming smile to greet him.

“Uh, hi,” Derek mumbled as he stepped forward, trying to act like he wasn’t remembering rubbing up against Stiles Saturday morning, their hands grappling and clinging to each other as they shamelessly made out until the Sheriff yelled at them to come downstairs for breakfast. He had to remember he was in school and to keep his thoughts PG-13. “I wanted to purchase two tickets.”

The girl’s eyebrows raised slightly.

_ Fuck _ , Derek thought, annoyed that his private life was still being dissected once again. He hoped Stiles didn’t mind.

“Um, for you and your date?” The girl tried to act as if she wasn’t prying as she checked off Derek's name without asking him for it.

Derek knew he had to say it was for Stiles, to mark him off the list.

“Yeah,” Derek uttered, a swell of pride rising in his chest as he thought about Stiles. “Stiles Stilinski.”

The girl stopped searching in her binder, looking up at Derek before side-glancing at the student who just finished taking money from Lydia.

Derek waited, prepared to flatten anything negative she might have said. It took him a minute to realize that she was a cheerleader. His thoughts immediately went to Heather and Jen. He expected that once he left the table the whole school would know before lunch was over. “Mieczysław is his given name, if you can’t find him,” he decided to say when she didn’t bother looking back through the binder.

“Oh, right,” she suddenly snapped back to looking at the list of names, knowing she had been obvious with her shock. She checked off Stiles’ name.

Derek offered out the money as he took the tickets. “Thanks,” he replied, taking a step back to leave the line. He caught Boyd’s gaze as the other waited in line, he nodded at his friend, thankful for the encouraging half smile he gave him in return.

Lydia was waiting for Derek just inside the cafeteria. “And now, Heather will know in very little time, which means—”

“Everyone will know,” Derek concluded, walking beside Lydia.

Lydia faintly smiled, hooking her arm with Derek’s as they walked towards the table their friends were sitting at. “Everyone already kind of knew,” she concluded, laughing when Derek rolled his eyes.

“It would have been helpful if someone told me and Stiles,” Derek concluded.

“No fun in that,” Lydia replied. She was happy for her friends, wondering when things would finally take a turn in their favor.

“Are you trying to steal my boyfriend?”

Derek smiled when he heard Stiles’ voice.

Lydia laughed as she let go of Derek in order to sit at the table. “I think that’d be hard to do when he’s so smitten with you.”

Derek took his seat next to Stiles, pressing a fond kiss to Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles flushed some, still not used to the PDA. True, not much had changed, but now Derek kissed him, regardless of how many people could gawk. “All set?”

Derek offered up the tickets. “You should probably hold onto them, you know I’ll lose them.”

Stiles snorted, taking the tickets from Derek.

“You’re like an old married couple,” Allison commented with fondness in her voice.

“That’s what happens when you know each other for more than ten years,” Stiles answered.

“I’m dependent,” Derek deadpanned, smirking when Stiles mockingly glared at him.

A few people’s phones buzzed, catching Derek’s attention away from Stiles. He arched his eyebrows at Lydia.

“And now everyone knows,” Lydia replied before setting her phone back down.

“Dude, why didn't you tell me this morning?” Scott questioned as he finally took his seat next to Allison. He looked between Stiles and Derek. “How long have you been dating?”

Stiles squirmed in his seat some, suddenly overwhelmed with what would likely be all the eyes in the cafeteria turning to look at them.

“Oh, we didn’t update Facebook,” Derek uttered in a nonchalant tone. “Our bad.”

Stiles laughed at the way Scott frowned. “It just happened, buddy.”

“Wait, did Derek punch Theo because he said something about you dating?” Scott questioned.

“I  _ allegedly  _ punched Theo,” Derek corrected Scott as he took the celery sticks Stiles offered to him. He had stayed at the Stilinski’s Sunday night, and refused to deny he had been happy when Stiles offered to pack lunch for him. He also would deny that he almost made them late when he kept kissing Stiles’ neck, arms wrapped around Stiles’ waist in a caring manner.

“What the fuck?” Jackson demanded when he reached the table.

Derek sighed. “I’m updating my profile,” he muttered to Stiles, a celery stick stuffed into his cheek as he used both hands to access his phone. He side glanced at Stiles, hoping he wouldn’t tell him not to. He was relieved at seeing the small smile he had on his lips, pulling out his own phone to accept Derek’s update in status.

With a few taps of Derek’s phone, Stiles received a request to accept Derek’s prompt to change their relationship status. He smiled down at the screen as he accepted it. Butterflies still fluttered in his stomach as he stared down at the words on his screen.

_ Stiles Stilinski is in a relationship with Derek Hale. _

Stiles wrinkled his nose at Derek when he tried to kiss him. “You have celery breath,” he mockingly argued.

“Rude,” Derek playfully answered.

~*~

Stiles was busy changing his last books out at his locker. He had gone most of the day without anyone looking at him weird. Once Derek had updated their relationship status, enough people seemed to gawk at him if Derek wasn’t with him. He imagined they were trying to find a reason why Derek would date him. Then again, some did seem to still gawk whenever they held hands walking down the hallway.

He decided to ignore his lack of self-esteem trying to agree that they had a reason to be skeptical. It was Thursday, which meant the weekend was nearly there, and he didn’t have to care about anyone else but Derek.

Stiles started to close his locker when his phone vibrated. He smiled when he saw it was from Derek.

Derek <3: Harris is keeping us >:(

Stiles: I can wait by the car?

Derek <3: Whichever you prefer. I might just leave

Stiles: He’ll give you detention, don’t

Derek <3: But I want to

Derek <3: :(

Stiles: If you have detention, you can’t come over

Derek <3: :O

Stiles laughed, gently biting his bottom lip.

Derek <3: Is this you saying you’ll make it up to me if I’m a good boy?

Stiles’ heart raced a little bit, thinking about how they were nearly late for school this morning, Derek pressing him up against the Camaro. If Stiles’ neighbor hadn’t yelled good morning to them, Stiles was certain they would have missed the first bell, and likely first period.

Stiles: If you’re a good boy

“Were you sleeping with him when we were dating?”

Stiles tightened his hold on his phone, staring at his locker as he tried to register if he had actually heard Heather’s voice. He completely closed his locker door before reluctantly turned around to see her standing behind him. He was thankful she was alone.

Heather had her arms crossed over her chest, looking at Stiles expectantly.

“Heather,” Stiles softly said her name, hoping it sounded like the plea he meant it as. “Derek has nothing to do with … I wasn’t seeing Derek when we were dating.”

Heather’s face pinched. “I caught you in bed, looking pretty intimate.”

Stiles’ stomach dropped, knowing more than one person in the hallway could have heard her. “That isn’t what happened.”

“But you wanted to date him the whole time,” Heather accused him.

“I … I wasn’t sure,” Stiles admitted the truth. “I liked you, Heather, but part of me always liked Derek too.”

Heather’s brow furrowed. “Derek and I are nothing alike.”

_ Thank God for that _ . “People can like different people,” Stiles argued instead of voicing his thoughts.

“I should have realized this,” Heather bitterly uttered. “Everyone always said that Derek had a thing for you—but you never said anything.”

Stiles drew in a heavy breath, unsure what he could say that would make her feel better. “I’m sorry if you’re hurt, Heather, but I’m not going to walk on glass because you don’t like this.”

Heather scoffed, shaking her head. “No, I’m just the cheerleader who was dumped by the gay kid for the football star.”

Stiles clenched his jaw tightly. “Grow up,” he gruffly uttered, amazed at himself for actually saying it.

Heather opened her mouth to say something, but Stiles’ attention immediately went to the end of the hall behind her—were Derek was walking towards them.

Derek didn’t miss a step as he walked towards them, but he seemed to walk faster when he noticed Heather had cornered Stiles at his locker. He flew by Heather, surprising Stiles when he cupped Stiles’ face in his hands, drawing him into a languid kiss.

Stiles wasn’t sure what it was, but when Derek held him like this—kissed him like this—he felt as if he was some small creature being protected by the apex predator most others lived in fear of. He was dazed when Derek pulled back, blinking some. He smiled up at Derek, knowing he looked goofy with just how elated he was to see him.

Derek turned to look at Heather, making sure he was standing between her and Stiles.

Heather scoffed, shaking her head. She actually looked defeated for once.

“Let’s go,” Stiles stated as he took Derek’s hand, ready to walk them to the Camaro if need be, determined to just leave Heather and her issues in the hallway, like he should have done when she asked him out.

“Yeah, better things to do,” Derek muttered as he looked away from Heather.

“You could have saved us all time by admitting you wanted to fuck him,” Heather countered.

Derek reeled and for a second, Stiles actually saw just how angry Derek could be. “Whether I fuck him—or he fucks me—” there was an edge to Derek’s voice, like he dared her to question him, “it’s none of your business. So like Stiles said, grow up.”

Derek turned and was the one now pulling Stiles down the hall and towards the parking lot.

~*~

Stiles held onto Derek’s hand as they drove in an amicable silence back to Stiles’ house. He twisted their fingers together, thumb brushing against Derek’s hand. He was glad Derek wasn’t tense with anger or annoyance at Heather. It was a relief to see him more at ease the further away they got from school.

Derek got out of the car once they parked in the Stilinski’s driveway, making sure to leave enough room for the Sheriff’s cruiser when he returned that night.

“Oh, forgot the mail,” Stiles sighed, looking down the driveway.

Derek faintly laughed, “I’ll get it,” he uttered as he started the short walk down the driveway.

“Such a gentleman,” Stiles mockingly called after him.

Derek couldn’t help but be reminded of old Mrs. Cartwright next door, how she would always compliment Derek, calling him a “fine young man” and “a true gentleman” whenever he helped with minor things when he happened to be over. He rolled his eyes, knowing Stiles was never going to let it go. He pulled the mail out of the cubby, closing the door as he looked down at the pile in his hands. He hesitated when he saw the insignia on one of the letters.

Stiles was on the porch when he saw Derek’s steps pause.

Derek looked up at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles asked, turning his head to the side.

Derek pulled the letter out of the pile, holding it up as he walked at a faster pace. “Berkeley,” he announced as he got closer to Stiles.

Stiles’ heart lodged in his throat, his faint smile completely gone as he looked from Derek to the letter. He missed one of the steps on the porch as he walked towards Derek. He managed not to brain himself on the driveway, eyes still transfixed on the letter.

“It’s—” Stiles stopped, finally looking at Derek. “It’s probably a rejection.”

Derek opened his mouth to argue.

“It’s too soon,” Stiles countered, shaking his head. “Most people hear back late March, early April. It’s small, too.”

“Stiles, it's March,” Derek forcefully uttered, grabbing ahold of Stiles’ bicep to stop him from pacing in a rambling mess. “Mine was small too.” His brow furrowed as he thought about his words. “That makes it sound like I’m talking about my penis.”

Stiles released a soft watery laugh. “Well, you could be.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “We both know that’s a lie.”

Stiles tried to ignore the heat in his stomach. Though their recent activities were mostly over the clothes, Stiles could tell the shape, outline, and size of Derek's penis just fine. Derek lived up to visual expectations.

Stiles had seen Derek naked before—an accident on both their parts in not communicating that Derek was indeed changing into swim trunks while Stiles was lost in the house looking for him. They were at a lake house the Hales often rented, Stiles joining them for the long weekend when his dad had to go out of town for a case. They were only fifteen, but it was obvious even then that Stiles had a crush on Derek.

Stiles had gotten turned around in the house, and instead of being embarrassed that he lost his way, he got a perfect view of Derek’s penis before it disappeared beneath swim trunks.

And Stiles regrets that he told Derek, in the heat of one of their many impromptu make out sessions this past week, he thought about how that moment could have gone very differently if he knew Derek liked him.

“My memory isn’t very good,” Stiles finally countered Derek's claim. “I could be inflating the size.”

Derek took a step towards Stiles. “If you weren’t trying to change the subject from your college acceptance letter right now, I think I’d have to take you upstairs and prove a point.”

“Promises, promises,” Stiles mumbled. He pretended he didn’t like the idea of being with Derek in his bedroom more than opening the letter. 

“Stiles,” Derek uttered in his serious tone. “I know you’re freaking out about the letter.”

Stiles released a heavy breath. “Yeah, okay.”

Derek looked down at the letter, turning it over in his hand. “Do you want me to open it for you?”

Stiles hesitated before nodding. “Yeah, like a band-aid,” he echoed Derek’s words from before.

Derek faintly smiled as he started to open the envelope. He stopped once he managed to get the piece of paper out. He looked up at Stiles. “Hey,” he gently said, getting Stiles’ attention as he closed the gap between them. “I want you to know that _this_ ,” he waved the letter in gesturing, “doesn’t change anything.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed.

“You’re still you,” Derek explained. “You’re still incredibly smart. And funny when you’re not being a sarcastic ass,” he smiled when Stiles huffed out a laugh. “You’re the nicest, and smartest person I’ve ever met, and I’m still in awe that you are even remotely invested in me.”

Stiles leaned forward to chastely kiss Derek.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m biased,” Derek sighed, his expression pinched. “I would love nothing more than for you to come to USC with me,” he continued, looking up at Stiles. “But I also want you to live your dream, no matter where that is in relation to me. So, whether it’s a five hour drive, or a five hour flight across country, I’ll do my best to visit you.”

Stiles nodded, tears prickling the back of his eyes as he tried to keep from crying.

Derek waited a second before pulling the letter out of the envelope. He unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning back and forth as he read the words printed out. He looked up at Stiles and smiled.

Stiles felt like his heart was going to implode. “I … got in?”

Derek was nodding, “You got in.”

Stiles took the letter from Derek, seeing the words in the acceptance letter himself. There were instructions further down the page about him logging into the online interface to access more details about his acceptance package. “I … I got in.”

“You’re going to Berkeley, baby,” Derek fondly uttered.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, pressing his face into Derek’s shoulder as he laughed, the sudden euphoria of knowing the outcome overcame every other emotion. “Tell me you meant it,” he spoke against the curve of Derek’s shoulder. “Tell me we’re going to see each other.”

Derek pulled back to look at Stiles, gingerly cupping Stiles’ face as he usually did when staring adoringly at him. “I meant it,” he confirmed. “Whether I have to buy a plane ticket, or drive the 5 hours, I’m visiting you.” He hesitated for a moment, as if he was plotting out his schedule. “But you’ll have to probably visit me during football season.”

“I’ll visit you in fall, you can visit in spring,” Stiles confirmed. He kissed Derek once more, welcoming the faint roughness as he clung to Derek, opening his mouth as he laid equal claim to Derek. He bit down on Derek’s lip, smirking when he heard him mumble that Stiles was a fiend. “Your roommate is going to hate me.”

Derek laughed.

Something didn’t occur to Stiles until they were in the house, his hand releasing Derek’s as he placed the rest of the mail on the welcoming bench. “How do you know it is 5 hours?”

Derek looked up at Stiles from where he knelt on the welcome matt, undoing the laces of his boots. “What?”

“You said a 5 hour drive,” Stiles explained. “How do you know it’s 5 hours from USC to Berkeley?”

Derek looked a little sheepish. “I looked it up when you told me you were applying,” he admitted as he finally stood up to kick his boots the rest of the way off.

“You were planning that far ahead?”

Derek nodded. “I was planning on the long con to get you to fall in love with me.”

Stiles’ heart felt as if it was swelling in his chest. “But I already love you.”

Derek smiled, pulling Stiles back towards him. “To be fair, we’re both oblivious,” he offered. “Because I already love you, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the final chapter is here! Thank you all for coming on this journey with me, and for leaving your encouraging notes and showing your love for this. I’m glad I got to write this story and share it with all of you.  
> <3 Enjoy!

Derek <3: Coach is determined to run me ragged

Stiles: Oh, my poor baby—I’ll have to kiss all your sore spots better

Derek <3: definitely something to look forward to ;)

Stiles was smiling down at his phone as he read Derek’s response.

“What’s got you in a good mood?”

Stiles looked up at Angela, blinking a few times before he realized she was in fact talking to him. “Oh, um,” he slightly shook his head as a blush started to tinge his cheeks. “Just my boyfriend texting me.”

He hesitated for a moment as he tried to think if he ever mentioned it before. He wasn’t ashamed of being out, just cautious when revealing it to his fellow classmates. Times were better, but people still held certain opinions.

Angela smiled, putting Stiles’ worries at ease for now. “You didn’t say you were dating anyone,” she commented, leaning in closer with intrigue. She had been very vibrant and talkative when Stiles first met her in his Astronomy course, happy that she took the reins in getting everyone beyond the first awkward icebreaker in their group.

Stiles smiled as he shrugged his shoulders. “He’s at USC so I don’t get to see him as often as I’d like.” Sadness pulled at Stiles’ gut as he thought about the games he had to miss over the past two months.

Despite their best efforts, Derek’s game days and training regime had very little wiggle room for visitors. And Stiles’ classes didn’t seem to care that Derek’s rare weekend lined up beautifully with the large tests and exams. His job at the library didn’t seem to care either. He was looking forward to Thanksgiving break, excited to see Derek in person instead of through a blurry box on his laptop.

“That’s so cute—are you high school sweethearts?”

“Sort of,” Stiles offered. He was aware of their other group members sitting down across the table. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. Started dating our senior year.”

“Dating who?” Mark asked as he set down the load of drinks he had piled in his arms.

“A secret,” Angela answered. She winked at Stiles. “I want photos,” she added at the level of a whisper.

~*~

Stiles held the wolf plushie against his chest, resting his chin on its head as he looked down at the laptop. “I hate that we aren’t together.”

Derek offered a small smile. “Me too,” he echoed. “Feels weird not being at your dad’s, handing out candy.”

Stiles tightened his hold on the plushie. He could still smell Derek’s cologne on it, smiling at the memory of Derek spraying it— _ to remember me by _ . “You could have gone out with your teammates.” As much as he loved seeing Derek in general, he knew that Halloween parties were raging across all college campuses right now—it wasn’t every year that Halloween landed on a Friday.

Derek made a face. “Yeah, be around a bunch of drunken idiots in dumb costumes.”

“It could be fun,” Stiles tried to sway him.

“Hey, I’m having fun,” Derek countered as he gestured at the streaming service they were watching together. They had been talking throughout the stream, ignoring the audio as it fell into background ambiance.

“I can’t wait to see you for Thanksgiving,” Stiles admitted. “Even if your mom does burn the turkey.”

“Chris is actually cooking it this year,” Derek corrected Stiles.

“Talia Hale let a  _ man  _ into her kitchen?”

Derek snorted. “A man who is dating Peter.”

Stiles laughed, “She must be truly desperate.”

“Well, it means Allison and Scott will be there—plus Melissa. Laura is bringing her girlfriend home, too,” Derek added as he picked up some candy from his ridiculously cliche pumpkin trick-or-treat pail. “So mom wants to make sure that it impresses. Chris sacrificed himself by admitting he cooked the turkey since before Allison was born.”

“I’m sure Peter is delighted,” Stiles answered.

“You mean that Chris Argent and his daughter won’t be celebrating Thanksgiving at the Mayor’s house?” Derek grinned. “I surely don’t know why you’d think Peter would be happy about that.”

Stiles laughed at imagining Gerard Argent’s face. “Going to be a full house.”

“We can still sneak off,” Derek offered.

Stiles made a face. “Derek Hale, are you trying to suggest I’d sneak off with you?”

Derek snorted, arching an eyebrow at Stiles. “Says the guy who snuck us off to have sex in the tree house before I left for football camp.”

Stiles tried to pretend his ears weren’t turning pink. “I’ll have you know I’m virginal.”

“Virginity is a social construct, Stiles,” Derek drawled, echoing Stiles’ own words about it whenever Jackson had been an ass. “Besides, after the 4th of July, neither of us are virgins of anything.”

Stiles remembered that weekend. He and Derek had been left alone at the lake house the Hales rented, Talia having to return for an emergency at the hospital while Peter and Chris remained in Beacon Hills when Cora insisted she was old enough to stay home alone.

Needless to say, Stiles lost count of how many times they had sex that weekend—many different places, many different positions.

“You’re not making it easy being this far apart,” Stiles criticized Derek.

Derek chuckled. “It will make the reunion that much better.”

Stiles hummed in agreement. “Considering the fact that I’m going to be driving back home with you after your Thanksgiving game, things might get delayed.”

A smirk started to pull at Derek’s lips. “You’re a minx.”

Stiles laughed, his heart feeling a bit lighter at knowing only a few more weekends separated him and Derek.

~*~

Stiles released a faint moan when Derek pressed him up against the wall. One of his hands clutched at the bulk of the pads along Derek’s shoulders, fingers digging into the collar of Derek’s jersey. His other hand grasped at Derek’s bicep as he steadied himself from falling sideways.

Derek was impulsive when it came to Stiles. And dropping his helmet when he saw Stiles standing in the tunnel was only the catalyst. He had left his helmet to be forgotten, drawing Stiles into a tight embrace as he kissed him.

Stiles hooked his legs around Derek’s waist when Derek’s hands slipped under his butt to lift him. “Derek,” he spoke his name in slight concern. “The game.”

Derek kept kissing Stiles, ignoring the cheers coming from outside the tunnel—the stomping in the bleachers reverberating through their near empty surroundings. “I can’t think of a game while I have you in my arms.”

Stiles pulled back, unable to stop his hips from shifting some, realizing Derek’s cup was pressed against him. He knew Derek wouldn’t drop him, and it added to his arousal. “You have your dick up against my ass. You’re not thinking straight.”

“I can’t think straight with you around,” Derek answered with a cocky grin. “I’m gay for you.”

Stiles snorted out a laugh. “Well, you can be extra gay when the game is over.” He unhooked his legs, being the responsible boyfriend in the moment. “Besides, I want to watch you run in these incredibly tight pants,” he smirked, allowing his hands to slip down and cup Derek’s ass.

Derek laughed, his smile pulling at his lips as he drew Stiles into another kiss.

“Hale!”

Derek pulled back abruptly, turning and looking down the tunnel. He lifted his arm up to signal that he had heard his coach.

“Get your ass on the field!”

Derek pulled away from Stiles, wishing his hands could linger as he started to head towards the stadium.

“Hey!”

Derek stopped, turning to look at Stiles. He smiled when he realized Stiles was hurrying towards him with his helmet in hand.

Stiles pressed up onto the balls of his feet, the slight incline and Derek’s gear making him even taller. He kissed Derek before pulling away and slipping the helmet onto Derek’s head. “Go kick their ass.”

~*~

Peter rolled his eyes when the people around him and Stiles cheered loudly—including Chris and John. He looked at Stiles, snorting in laughter when he saw a similar grimace on Stiles’ face. “Hopefully he gets drafted as a pro, that way we can watch from a private box.”

Stiles offered Peter a smile. He was proud of Derek for living his dream, but part of him was afraid Derek would want to professionally play. He thought of the injuries and trauma, remembering how worried Talia looked whenever Derek came home with his arms wrapped.

“Sit down,” Peter uttered in annoyance as he grabbed Chris by the belt loops, pulling the older man down onto the bleacher. “He’s not even your nephew.”

Chris looked at Peter, “Yet.”

Peter narrowed his eyes some, pretending he wasn’t blushing at the thought. “Shut up,” he muttered as he drank more of his beer.

Stiles looked at his dad, gently nudging shoulders with him. “Are you going to be okay to drive all the way back on your own?”

The Sheriff’s brow furrowed.

Stiles gestured his head towards Peter. “He’s on his fourth beer.”

John shook his head. “He claimed the back seat to lay down. Chris said he’d drive if I got tired.”

Stiles nodded.

“You probably shouldn’t let Derek drive tonight,” John uttered, his gaze returning to the field.

“We might crash in his dorm,” Stiles finally uttered, wishing he could time it better than when his dad’s attention was focused on him. “Football players are allowed an extra night before leaving—because of the game.”

“Uh huh,” John skeptically replied.

Stiles’ furious blush did nothing to argue John’s doubts.

~*~

Stiles pulled on the collar of his sweatshirt, smiling to himself as he rolled down one of the sleeves once more. He wasn’t sure if he accidentally took Derek’s USC football sweatshirt, or if Derek intentionally crammed it into his bag when they rushed to pack before heading back to school. He wasn’t complaining, enjoying having Derek’s sweatshirt to wear around campus. He felt important when people side eyed him curiously, as if they knew he had no love for football so it must have meant something else.

“Oh my gosh,” Angela uttered when she sat next to Stiles, her voice traveling through the library mezzanine. “Are you wearing your boyfriend’s sweatshirt?”

Stiles tried to hide his smile, knowing his blush was a sufficient answer.

“Damn, Stiles,” Angela uttered, a fond laugh bubbling up. “You never said you were tapping a football player.”

“What?” Mark asked as he slid into the seat directly across from Stiles. “Did I miss something again?” He asked in earnest, knowing he was missing something when Angela only laughed at him.

“Uh, my boyfriend,” Stiles explained, taking pity on Mark. He side eyed Daniel, not remembering exactly how open minded he was.

“I didn’t know you were dating someone,” Mark commented. “Damn, my girlfriend’s cousin thought you were cute.”

Stiles tilted his head. “I met your girlfriend? And her cousin?”

Angela laughed.

“She saw you from afar,” Mark sheepishly stated, briefly looking at Daniel when he finally sat next to him. “I think they stalked you on social media. She asked if the guy in your profile picture was your cousin or something.”

“Ah, no,” Stiles answered. “That’s my boyfriend.”

Mark’s eyebrows raised. “Nicely done, man.”

Stiles tried to ignore the heat on his neck.

“No way,” Daniel uttered, looking down at his phone.

Stiles bristled some in his seat when he saw that Daniel had pulled up his profile on Facebook.

Stiles’ profile picture was taken during the summer, at one of the bonfires on the shore of Beacon’s one lake. He was sitting in Derek’s lap, looking up at the camera. Derek’s hand was resting between Stiles’ knees—higher up between his thighs than a friendly gesture would be. His arm was wrapped around Derek’s neck, while Derek’s face was hidden in Stiles’ collarbone.

“Hot bod,” Angela commented when she saw Derek.

“Football does that,” Stiles curtly uttered, looking down at his textbook.

“No way you’re fucking a USC football player,” Daniel’s words cut through everyone’s playful banter.

Stiles looked up at Daniel, his stomach twisting with disbelief and annoyance. He couldn’t tell if Daniel was homophobic or just thought Stiles wasn’t attractive enough for Derek. In either case, he could fuck off.

“Wow, way to be an ass,” Angela plainly uttered, her glare pointing daggers at Daniel.

“There is no closeted football player on USC’s team,” Daniel stated. “It would be all over the place if one was in a relationship with another guy.”

“You’re right, there isn’t a closeted player,” Stiles snapped some. “Because Derek isn’t in the closet about his bisexuality.”

“You are not dating Derek Hale,” Daniel pushed back.

Stiles forgot how Derek was the only Derek on the USC football team. And any obsessed football fan would definitely recognize Derek thanks to his stats. He shook his head, standing up abruptly. “I’ve done my section and I’ll send it to you,” he spoke directly to Angela. “I don’t feel so well anymore.” He left without another word. He could hear them talking on the mezzanine, despite the distance he pushed between them.

Mark shifted papers at an uncomfortable pace. “Daniel, why would Stiles lie?”

“Attention,” Daniel gruffly stated.

“He has a picture with him,” Angela remarked.

Daniel scoffed, “He has his profile as private, you can’t even see if he’s in a relationship.”

“God, you’re such an ass,” Angela sighed.

Stiles tried to ignore the jealousy twisting his stomach.

~*~

“What, does he want to watch me jerk you off before he believes it?”

Stiles almost coughed out his soda. He couldn’t help his small smile, knowing Derek would make him feel better almost immediately.

“I’ve always thought I had an exhibition kink, we could try it,” Derek continued.

“Please, I’m self conscious enough,” Stiles mumbled.

Derek was quiet for a beat. “You know you’re incredibly sexy, right?”

Stiles shifted in the bed, feeling uncomfortable. Even after months of having sex, being naked in bed with Derek, he still felt the constant need to cover up. He never felt the freedom that Derek did with his nudity—he’d seen Derek naked enough to know Derek’s confidence wasn’t a lie.

“Stiles,” Derek pressed. “Please tell me you know that.”

“I know you tell me that,” Stiles finally answered.

Derek set down his drink, shifting and pulling his laptop closer as his face filled up the camera. “And I’m not wrong,” he firmly stated. “Do you have any idea how hard I got when I just saw you in the stadium tunnel before my game?”

Stiles looked down at his soda, fingernail picking at the plastic bottle top.

“I was lucky I had on a cup,” Derek added.

“Hard to walk?” Stiles looked up at Derek, snorting some when he saw Derek’s unimpressed face.

“More like, it hurt like hell,” Derek corrected him. “You are beautiful, though. I want you to know that.”

The small smile returned to Stiles’ lips.

~*~

Stiles picked at the label of his soda, his nail slipping beneath the damp paper as it easily tore. He knew when Derek would get there, knowing there was still at least half an hour before he got a text saying he arrived outside the lounge. He wasn’t even sure what anyone was calling it now, but it was nicer than any other college bar Stiles had heard about from his friends.

“A whole week in Cancun,” Angela sighed. “Who actually thinks that’s ideal?”

Stiles snorted out a laugh, taking a sip of his soda.

“I’m glad I’m going to be home, sleeping in late, and eating way too much junk food.”

“You’re not going to miss the experience?” Mark asked. His girlfriend, Ashley, had arrived last night, and she appeared more than at home next to Mark in their booth. They were an adorable couple, and it made Stiles happy to know Mark had someone special.

“A vacation I can barely afford, getting drunk and sunburnt on a beach in a place I don’t know?” Angela incredulously countered. “I’d be happier going on a museum tour of Europe.”

Stiles nodded his head, liking the sound of that. As long as he had Derek with him, he wouldn’t really care what the destination was.

“That sounds romantic,” Ashley noted, looking at Mark to see if he’d consider it.

“Yeah, that could be fun,” Mark replied, a slight panic in his expression when he realized Ashley might prefer that to their trip to Cancun. He looked at Stiles, fishing for help.

“I think the best vacations happen because of who you share it with,” Stiles honestly offered.

“That’s so sweet, Stiles,” Ashley answered, smiling at Mark. “I think so too.”

“Speaking of, where is tall and handsome?” Angela asked as she looked at Stiles.

Stiles pulled out his phone, checking to see if Derek said anything. “He should be here soon. I just hope he didn’t run out of gas in traffic.”

“I mean, the roads aren’t that bad from USC, are they?” Mark asked.

Stiles sighed. “He has a camaro,” he dejectedly admitted. “While it is a very sexy car, it is neither energy efficient or roomy.”

Angela snickered. “Typical athlete.”

Their conversation steered from topic to topic, Stiles occasionally checking his phone every other minute. It became more of a habit than a need, still feeling uneasy.

Daniel had joined them, and Stiles’ stomach couldn’t handle the way he kept side-eyeing him. It was as if Daniel’s gaze said enough of the way he thought of Stiles’ claim to be dating a USC football player.

Stiles started to make an excuse as he got up, disguising his plan to call Derek the minute he was out of ear range as a need for the bathroom.

“Maybe you should give Derek a call,” Daniel said in response. “He’s pretty late.”

Stiles never really thought he would hate someone as much as Theo, but Daniel was slowly climbing that ladder.

“Stiles can’t control the traffic,” Ashley stated, wrinkling her nose some as she looked at Daniel with distaste.

Stiles knew there was something about Ashley he liked.

Daniel shrugged, as if unaffected by Ashley’s reply.

“I’ll just call to see if he’s almost here. He said the gps told him 6,” Stiles softly stated.

“Yeah, but the gps knows shit about dinner traffic,” Angela offered.

“Yeah,” Stiles affirmed, looking up at the table as he stood. He hesitated when he saw Mark and Ashley staring at him.

Not at him--behind him.

“Hey, sexy, come here often?”

Stiles turned his head, catching sight of Derek smiling at him. “You asshole,” he fondly uttered, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders in a tight embrace. “I was worried,” he softly spoke against Derek’s ear. He knew the crowd around them was loud, but having Derek so close made all that anxiety fade away.

“I’m sorry,” Derek apologized, a faint laugh huffing out when Stiles pulled back. “I took the wrong way.”

“You listened to the gps about a shorter route, didn’t you,” Stiles dryly stated.

“You’re meant to follow the gps, Stiles,” Derek sighed, a fond smile pulling at his lips.

“And now you’re 40 minutes late,” Stiles countered.

“38,” Derek corrected him.

“Don’t you remember what happened when we went to Disneyland?” Stiles turned to look at his friends, his words catching in his throat when he saw them all staring. Everyone always stared at Derek.

“That was adorable,” Angela stated first. “You’re basically an old married couple,” she explained to Stiles as she stood some, offering her hand to Derek. “Angela, nice to meet you.”

Derek reached around Stiles, shaking her hand. “I’ve been married to him since we were eight.”

Stiles ignored the blush burning his cheeks. “A bottle cap ring does not count--and last I checked, Boyd can’t legally marry anyone.”

Derek laughed, his breath touching the side of Stiles’ neck as he pressed against Stiles’ back.

“You didn’t tell me you had a fake marriage,” Angela stated with intrigue.

Ashley reached across the table, offering her hand. “Hi, I’m Ashley. I’m sorry, but I Facebook stalked you and Stiles.”

Derek laughed, shaking her hand. “That’s okay, I don’t update that often anyways.”

“I’m Mark’s girlfriend, so I wanted to know as much as possible about everyone else,” Ashley word vomited out, looking as if she was nervous at having admitted her social media research.

“As the other plus one, I feel your pain.”

Ashley smiled at Derek’s words, relaxing back against Mark.

Mark shook Derek’s hand next, wincing some, “Mark. And sorry, but I don’t know anything about football, but I’ve been assured you’re awesome.”

Derek smiled and nodded. “All good, he hates football,” he gestured his head at Stiles.

“Yes, I should love seeing my boyfriend getting tackled,” Stiles dryly stated, moving to sit back in the booth next to Angela.

Daniel was the last person Derek greeted. “Daniel.”

Derek looked at Daniel as he shook his hand, pointedly tightening his grip some. “Nice to meet you,” he uttered, his voice even despite the lack of playfulness that he had when speaking to the others.

Stiles was happier than he thought he’d be when Derek sat with his arm around him. He sunk into Derek’s side, feeling at home. He looked forward to being back in Beacon Hills with Derek for the week, but having Derek here with his friends made something pull at Stiles’ chest. A type of smug pride at how happy he felt.

After a while, Derek offered to get another set of drinks. He eased off his jacket as he stood, sliding the leather off his shoulders and arms before reaching to hang it on the hook next to the booth. He started to roll his sleeves as he looked down at Stiles.

“You don’t have to get a round for everyone,” Stiles stated, leaning in closer to Derek.

“I want to,” Derek answered, leaning down to press a kiss to Stiles’ lips. He looked up at the others, taking their drink order before departing for the bar.

Stiles tilted his head slightly as he regarded Derek from afar. He had smiled when seeing the bottle cap necklace falling out from beneath Derek’s open collar—he knew Derek still wore it, but it made his stomach tumble with joyful butterflies whenever he saw it. He wasn’t surprised by Derek wearing another thin henley that hid little, small patches appearing darker where Derek’s chest hair contrasted against his skin tone. He still didn’t understand how Derek got in and out of his jeans, as if they were painted on in some cases.

Stiles looked back at the others, nipping his cheek when he saw they were looking at him now.

“He’s really sweet, Stiles,” Ashley stated with a smile. “He’s totally enamored with you too.”

Stiles smiled back at Ashley. “Thanks. It’s nice having him here.” He felt awkward, not knowing what to say beyond that. He didn’t want to seem awkward but, people just seemed to focus on Derek whenever they were together. It was different to have his friends being introduced to Derek with no prior knowledge.

“He’s like … built, dude,” Mark commented.

Ashley rolled her eyes, fondly tapping Mark’s arm as if she was comforting a child’s silly observation.

Angela snorted.

Stiles was unable to stop himself from laughing a bit. “He put on a lot of muscle once he started at USC. He’ll probably end up ordering food actually—he can’t go an hour without eating.”

“He’s that serious about football, huh?” Daniel commented.

Stiles looked at Daniel. He wasn’t sure what Daniel’s problem had been since Derek’s very existence was mentioned. He didn’t know if it was ignorance, or if Daniel had a personal problem with Stiles. Whatever it was, he wished he could knock some sense into him.

“He got football scholarships to about a dozen schools,” Stiles explained instead. “He wasn’t lying when he said I disliked football, but I know what he’s capable of on a football field.” He focused on twisting his soda in circles on the table, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. “What he does is nothing short of incredible. He’s … he’s beautiful on that field when he’s running plays. But I don’t like him getting hurt.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to not focus on the feeling of tears burning the back of his throat. “But I also support him in whatever he wants to do, just like he supports me becoming a historian.”

Angela bumped shoulders with Stiles, a reassurance that his heart being in the right place was the best thing.

“It’s good that he is out,” Daniel suddenly stated.

Stiles looked at Daniel, surprised at how nice he sounded.

“It would be shitty of him to chase that dream while expecting you to hide,” Daniel finally explained when Mark and Ashley looked at him.

Stiles released a heavy breath, suddenly realizing that maybe Daniel wasn’t as much of an ass as he thought.

There were no openly gay athletes in the NFL, and if Derek wanted to continue his career, he’d be fighting against that status quo.

And maybe Daniel had made the assumption Derek wasn’t actually open, because it never came up in any of the publicity surrounding him. Stiles remembered Derek mentioning how his coach suggested he could win aHeisman’s trophy—that would be a turning point, and all the cameras would be pointing at Derek and dissecting his life.

Their life.

Stiles pushed those thoughts away as Derek’s warmth returned to his side. He looked at him, smiling when Derek placed his arm around him.

“I definitely ordered food, too, by the way.”

Stiles laughed, “I told you so.”

Regardless of what happened, he was happy for the now. He’d work with Derek on whatever happened after this moment.

~*~

**4 years later...**

Derek’s leg was shaking.

It was something Stiles had always done when waiting, and Derek was convinced he picked it up from him.

Derek’s eyes were fixed on the television screen with the commentators, listening to people he never met talk about not only his own future, but also the futures of several of the men he met today. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he didn’t get drafted—but the longer it took him from his college career, the further his chances fell. He felt sick with nervousness.

He almost never got nerves, the one major exception being when he proposed to Stiles last Halloween.

They were at Stiles’ house, on candy duty while the Sheriff was on shift. Derek had convinced Stiles to trust him, placing a blindfold on him and pulling him out to the backyard. He could tell Stiles was nervous, despite his joking nature. He had to catch his breath when he knelt down in front of Stiles, looking up at him with so much hope in his heart.

Stiles had removed the blindfold when Derek told him to, softly laughing as he finally opened his eyes. His breath caught when he realized Derek was kneeling. He only turned to look at the sandbox when Derek gestured his head to the side. He released a watery laugh when he saw the words ‘Stiles, will you marry me?’ traced into the sand. When he turned back to Derek, he placed a hand over his mouth at seeing the ring nestled in a box resting in Derek’s hands.

Stiles had just started his job as an archivist’s assistant at Beacon’s Historical Society, a part time appointment as he worked on his masters. Derek delayed his announcement as candidate for the NFL draft, wanting to finish out his college career. Some called him an idiot for delaying, but it felt right in the moment. And right now, Derek wasn’t sure what decision he should have made—he at least had Stiles.

“Babe.”

A familiar hand touched Derek’s knee, gently pressing down to stop the restless motion. Fingers dipped and caressed the inside of Derek’s thigh in a calming manner. The engagement band Derek had given Stiles was resting on his ring finger.

Nobody would dare touch Derek this intimately but Stiles. Maybe a few forward women or bold men whenever Stiles wasn’t with him. He was an NFL hopeful on paper, and a budding gay icon in the media.

Derek tended to have a pissed off face when dealing with anything football related, and it scared more people than not into avoiding him. It was something he adopted to keep the homophobes away after Stiles came for his first game at USC after it was announced Derek won the Heisman trophy that year. He would have punched the guy who used the f-word when Stiles hugged Derek in the stadium tunnel, but Stiles pulled him back, telling him to let the game decide.

Stiles always grounded Derek—it’s what he alway did.

Derek turned to look at Stiles, offering a forced smile in hopes it would reassure him.

“You’re going to vibrate off the couch,” Stiles jokingly uttered.

“Sorry,” Derek mumbled as he leaned back on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face as he released a harsh breath.

“Hey, talk to me,” Stiles gently prompted, turning his body towards Derek.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Derek finally admitted as he looked up at the ceiling. “They invited me for the publicity.”

Stiles frowned at Derek’s words.

“They’re not going to draft an openly gay player,” Derek bitterly spoke his concern.

Stiles frowned as he looked away. “I shouldn’t have come with you then.”

“No,” Derek quickly uttered, reaching out to cup Stiles’ face in his hands as he sat up. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips, grounding himself in the moment. “I didn’t mean it like that, babe. I want you here.”

Stiles ran his hand along Derek’s cheek, his thumb brushing through the short hairs of his beard. “If I cost you this—”

“You’re not costing me anything,” Derek firmly stated. “They’re the homophobes if they don’t draft me because I’m marrying another guy.”

Stiles faintly smiled. He liked being reminded that they were engaged. “Not only homophobes, but idiots.”

Derek lightly chuckled as he allowed his hands to drop from Stiles’ face. “I’m just on edge—annoyed with all the media. How they’ll spin this if I don’t get picked.” He shook his head. “And even if I do get picked, they’ll say it’s a PR stunt.”

There were going to be dozens of photos of them both in the sports magazines if Derek was drafted this weekend. If not, there might be a few detailed in the LGBTQ magazines focusing on sports.

Derek hadn’t let go of Stiles’ hand when they got out of the car, holding on even tighter when he felt Stiles try to pull away when the first camera flash went off. There were a few people asking questions, but Derek only smiled and waved at them, walking with Stiles into the building.

“That’s bullshit,” Stiles uttered. “You are one of the best players here.”

Derek looked at Stiles. “You’re biased,” he answered. He did a small scan around the room, noticing that some of the guys were looking at them.

Stiles shook his head. “You’re a Heisman winner, for fuck’s sake,” he replied. “And your stats are off the chart.”

Derek snorted at Stiles. “You don’t even like football, how do you know my stats are worth shit?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Fine, I asked Chris to explain, and Allison did an even better job of teaching me more than half the lingo.”

Derek pulled Stiles into a kiss. “I love having a nerdy fiance.”

Stiles made a slight noise against Derek’s lips. “I love having a meathead for a fiance.”

Derek smiled at that.

Air rushed out of the room whenever there was a representative on stage, announcing their pick. Another person called, cheers reverberating through the room. It became automatic to clap in response to someone else being picked. The picks for first round were coming to close, and people were on edge.

There were only two teams left, and Derek was resigned that they’d be here until Sunday night, already mentally calculating their journey back home.

And then one of the men on stage said his name.

“... select Derek Hale, Wide-Receiver, USC.”

There was clapping even in the green room, and an uproar loudly blocking out any jeering that was happening in the limited crowd gathered in front of the stage.

“Babe, they called you,” Stiles’ voice was calm, despite the disbelief on his face.

Derek grabbed Stiles, drawing him into a tight hug. He knew the cameras were coming in close to get any image they could use for click bait.

Stiles kissed the corner of Derek’s lips, saying he was proud of him as he took a step back and gestured him to go towards the tunnel that would lead to the stage.

~*~

“At 6 feet tall, 228 pounds, Hale averages out to be in decent shape for a wide-receiver. However, his play stats from USC are incredible, it’s not shocking he made the first round of picks because of what’s on paper. But he could also be considered, by some, as a character risk. He is the first openly homosexual football player to be playing in the NFL. Most players come out after their retirement, or are overlooked by the draft. This could affect his future career depending on how fans accept or deny him.”

“Wow, fucking asshole,” Stiles harshly uttered. “Character risk. That’s supposed to be about domestic abusers and shit.”

“It could have been worse, I guess,” Derek replied, his hand gently touching Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles was hunched up on the edge of their couch, glaring and huffing at the television as the commentators continued. “Homosexual. You’re bisexual.”

“Engaged to a man,” Derek added.

“Stop trying to defend them,” Stiles turned back to look at Derek.

Derek faintly laughed. “Babe,” he softly said as he sat up closer to Stiles. “I’m a proud bisexual, in a loving relationship with the love of my life who happens to be a man.” He placed a kiss against Stiles’ shoulder, his lips brushing along Stiles’ skin as he kept eye contact with him. “I could tell them all to fuck off, as long as I had you.”

“And a 5 million dollar wrongful termination policy in your contract?”

Derek shook his head. “We’re set for life, even if I get injured in my first game,” he reasoned. “So you can’t leave me because I’m a bum.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “Don’t talk like that,” he uttered. “You know I’d love you even if you were one.”

“Even if I get fat and bald?”

Stiles pretended to wrinkle his nose. “Oh no, that’s pushing it,” he started, laughing half way through when Derek began tickling him. “Alright!” He breathlessly shouted. “If you sign the deal with Under Armor, I’ll allow you to lose your looks later on.”

Derek laughed at that. “If you want to see me in Under Armor, you just have to ask.”

Stiles hummed, relaxing into Derek’s arms as he turned to look at him. “You know I don’t mean any of that, right? I loved you when you were pudgy with braces,” he explained, reaching a hand up to touch Derek’s cheek. “I’m going to keep loving you until we’re both old and decrepit.”

Derek leaned down to kiss Stiles. “Sandbox love is forever, huh,” he spoke against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles gently nodded his head. “Forever.”


End file.
